"Okay, that eliminates him--and you, incidentally--because it started
in here. Right, so far?"
"Right!"
"Hmmm. Something happened _to_ Akimisov."
"And Plass--that booboo he made?"
Ray dismissed Plass with a gesture. He was looking a little restive;
another debate was under way down below, with Punchy and Leigh MacKean
vociferously presenting the case for psychokinesis, and being expertly
heckled by owlish little M. C. (Hotfoot) Burncloth's echo-chamber
voice. "It's too much," I said quickly. "There's too many of them left.
We'll never--"
"It's perfectly simple!" Ray said incisively. He counted on his fingers
again. "Burgeon--Kley--Duchamp--Bierce--Burncloth--MacKean--Jibless.
Eight people."
"One of the visitors?" I objected.
He shook his head. "I know who all these people are, generally," he
said. "It's got to be one of those eight. I'll take Kley, Bierce,
Jibless and MacKean--you watch the other four. Sooner or later they'll
give themselves away."