old-fashioned but still imposing terrace of substantially built property. The road was wide, quiet, tree -lined and had an air of stuffy respectability. Harper went up six steps and rang the doorbell.
A tall, good-looking youth of about eighteen answered the door, eyed him quizzically.
"Miss Jocelyn Whittingham in?" Harper asked, trying to sound official or at least semi-official.
"No." The other's mind confirmed the truth of that, but went on to whisper to itself, "Joyce doesn't want to see anybody. Who is this muscle-bound ape? Another nosy cop? Or a reporter? Joyce is fed up answering questions. Why don't they leave her alone ? "
"Any idea when she'll be back?"
"No."
That was a lie; the girl had promised to return by six.
"H'm!" Harper glanced up and down the road in the manner of one idly wondering what to do next. In deceptively casual tones, he asked, "Ever plug a state trooper?"
No alarm-bell rang in the opposing brain. The. youth's thoughts swirled confusedly while he doubted his own ears.
"Have I ever what?"
"Sorry," said Harper. "I was thinking out loud about something else. When do you suppose I could see Miss Whittingham?"
"I don't know."
Same lie again.
"Too bad." Harper registered indecision.
"What d'you want to see her about?" inquired the youth.
"A personal matter."
"Well, she isn't in and I don't know when she'll be in."
"Suppose I call back between six and seven?"
"Please yourself." He showed facial indifference while his mind nursed the notion that the visitor could go jump in the lake.
"All right, I'll try again later."
The youth nodded, shut the door. He was not sufficiently interested even to ask Harper's name. He was devoid of guilt and bored by the affairs of his sister, Miss Jocelyn Whittingham.
Harper spent an hour strolling aimlessly around the town, while his car was greased and serviced in a central garage. At twenty to six he returned on foot to the road, stationed himself by a bus stop fifty yards from the house and kept watch for the girl's homecoming.
He had only a rough description of his quarry but needed no more than that. One question would serve to stimulate self-identification voluntarily or involuntarily. There is no way of preventing the brain from registering its negatives or affirmatives, no matter how great the desire to distort it.
Once the girl got inside that house, the puzzle would be how to gain an interview contrary to her wishes. If she flatly refused to see him, he had no power to compel her to do so.
A face-to-face interview was imperative. If she were indoors, he could stand there all night picking up her thoughts, and sorting them out from other nearby thoughts, with no difficulty whatsoever. He. could , if he wished, spy upon her mind for a week.
It would do him not the slightest bit of good so long as her mind, and its thinking processes, moved only in channels having nothing to do with the case in hand. Questions were necessary to force her brain onto the case and make it reveal any cogent evidence it might be hiding. A vocal stimulus was required. To provide it, he must ask her about this and that, drawing useful conclusions from all points where her thoughts contradicted her
A tall, good-looking youth of about eighteen answered the door, eyed him quizzically.
"Miss Jocelyn Whittingham in?" Harper asked, trying to sound official or at least semi-official.
"No." The other's mind confirmed the truth of that, but went on to whisper to itself, "Joyce doesn't want to see anybody. Who is this muscle-bound ape? Another nosy cop? Or a reporter? Joyce is fed up answering questions. Why don't they leave her alone ? "
"Any idea when she'll be back?"
"No."
That was a lie; the girl had promised to return by six.
"H'm!" Harper glanced up and down the road in the manner of one idly wondering what to do next. In deceptively casual tones, he asked, "Ever plug a state trooper?"
No alarm-bell rang in the opposing brain. The. youth's thoughts swirled confusedly while he doubted his own ears.
"Have I ever what?"
"Sorry," said Harper. "I was thinking out loud about something else. When do you suppose I could see Miss Whittingham?"
"I don't know."
Same lie again.
"Too bad." Harper registered indecision.
"What d'you want to see her about?" inquired the youth.
"A personal matter."
"Well, she isn't in and I don't know when she'll be in."
"Suppose I call back between six and seven?"
"Please yourself." He showed facial indifference while his mind nursed the notion that the visitor could go jump in the lake.
"All right, I'll try again later."
The youth nodded, shut the door. He was not sufficiently interested even to ask Harper's name. He was devoid of guilt and bored by the affairs of his sister, Miss Jocelyn Whittingham.
Harper spent an hour strolling aimlessly around the town, while his car was greased and serviced in a central garage. At twenty to six he returned on foot to the road, stationed himself by a bus stop fifty yards from the house and kept watch for the girl's homecoming.
He had only a rough description of his quarry but needed no more than that. One question would serve to stimulate self-identification voluntarily or involuntarily. There is no way of preventing the brain from registering its negatives or affirmatives, no matter how great the desire to distort it.
Once the girl got inside that house, the puzzle would be how to gain an interview contrary to her wishes. If she flatly refused to see him, he had no power to compel her to do so.
A face-to-face interview was imperative. If she were indoors, he could stand there all night picking up her thoughts, and sorting them out from other nearby thoughts, with no difficulty whatsoever. He. could , if he wished, spy upon her mind for a week.
It would do him not the slightest bit of good so long as her mind, and its thinking processes, moved only in channels having nothing to do with the case in hand. Questions were necessary to force her brain onto the case and make it reveal any cogent evidence it might be hiding. A vocal stimulus was required. To provide it, he must ask her about this and that, drawing useful conclusions from all points where her thoughts contradicted her
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