FACING THE members of the group Pretty Blue Fox, Bill Calumine said, "Ladies and gentlemen, Jerome Luckman has been murdered and every one of us is a suspect. That's the situation. There isn't much more I can tell you at this time. Naturally, there will be no Game-playing tonight."

Silvanus Angst giggled and said, "I don't know who did it, but whoever it is—congratulations." He laughed, waiting for the others to join in.

"Be quiet," Freya said to him sharply.

Coloring, Angst said, "But I'm right; it's the best news—"

"It's not good news that we're under suspicion," Bill Calumine said shortly. "I don't know who did it, or even if any of us did it. And I'm not even sure that it's to our advantage; we may find enormous legal complications in getting back the two California title deeds which we lost to him. I just don't know; it's too soon. What we need is legal advice."

"Right," Stuart Marks said, and around the room the other members of the group nodded. "We should jointly hire an attorney, a good one."

"To help protect us," Jack Blau said, "and to advise us how best to get those two deeds back."

"A vote," Walt Remington said.

Irritably, Bill Calumine said, "We don't need to vote; it's obvious we need an attorney. The police will be here any

time, now. Let me ask this," he glanced around the room, "if one of you did it—and I stress the word if—does that person want to declare himself now?"

There was silence. No one moved.

With a brief smile, Calumine said, "That takes care of that, anyhow. If one of us killed Luckman he's not going to say."

"Would you want him to?" Jack Blau asked.

"Not particularly," Calumine said. He turned to the vidphone. "If no one objects I'll call Bert Earth, my attorney in Los Angeles, and see if he can get right up here. All right?" Again he glanced around.

No one objected.

"All right, then," Calumine said, and dialed.

Schilling said, "Whoever did it, for whatever motives," his voice was harsh, "putting it in Carol Holt Garden's car was a vicious and brutal act. Wholly inexcusable."

Freya smiled. "We can condone the murder but not putting the body in Mrs. Garden's car. An odd era we're living in."

"You know I'm right," Schilling said to her.

Freya shrugged.

Into the vidphone, Bill Calumine was saying, "Give me Mr. Barth; it's an emergency." He turned toward Carol, who sat by Pete and Joe Schilling on the large center sofa. "I'm particularly thinking of your protection, Mrs. Garden, in our hiring of legal counsel. Since it was found in your car."

"Carol's no more a suspect than anyone else," Pete said. At least, he thought, I hope not. Why should she be? After all, she notified the police as soon as she found it.

Lighting a cigarette, Schilling said to him, "So I arrived too late. I'll never have my opportunity to get back at Lucky Luckman."

Stuart Marks murmured, "Unless you already have."

"Meaning what?" Schilling said, turning toward him and surveying him.

"Hell, what do you think I mean?" Marks said.

On the vidscreen the firm, elongated features of the Los Angeles attorney Bert Barth had formed and Barth was already in the process of advising the group. "They'll come as

a team," he was explaining to Bill Calumine. "One vug, one Terran; that's customary in capital crimes. I'll get up there as soon as I can but it'll take me at least half an hour. Be prepared for them both to be excellent telepaths; that's customary, too. But remember: evidence obtained through telepathic scanning is not legal in a Terran court of law; that's been solidly established."

Calumine said, "It sounds to me like a violation of the provision in the U. S. Constitution against a citizen being forced to testify against himself."

"That, too," Barth said, nodding. Now the whole group was silent, listening to the conversation between Calumine and their attorney. "The police telepaths can scan you and determine if you're guilty or innocent, but other evidence has to be produced for it to stand up in court. They will use their telepathic faculties to the hilt however; you can be sure of that."

The Rushmore Effect of the apartment now chimed and then announced, "Two persons are outside wishing to enter."

"Police?" Stuart Marks asked.

"One Titanian," the Rushmore Effect said, "and one Terran. Are you police?" It was addressing the visitors. "They are police," it informed the group. "Shall I admit them?"

"Have them come on up," Bill Calumine said, after an exchange of glances with his attorney.

Barth continued, "What your people must be prepared for is this. By law, the authorities can disband your group until this crime is solved. In principle, it's supposed to act as a determent to future crimes committed by Game-playing groups. Actually, it works out more as a simple punitive gesture, punishing everyone involved."

Dismally, Freya said, "Disband the group—oh no!"

"Sure," Jack Blau said grimly. "Didn't you know that? It's the first thing I thought of when I heard about Luck-man's death; I knew they'd disband us." He glared around the room, as if seeking for the person responsible for the crime.

"Well, maybe they won't," Walt Remington said.

There was a knock at the apartment door itself. The police.

"I'll stay on the vidphone," Bert Barth offered, "instead of trying to make it up there. I can probably advise you better this way." From the vidscreen he looked toward the door.

Freya opened the door. There stood a lean, tall young Terran and, beside him, a vug. The Terran said, "I'm Wade Hawthorne." He produced a black-backed leather wallet, which contained their identification; the vug merely rested in its customary fashion, overtaxed by the ascent to this floor. Stitched to it was the name-thread E. B. Black.

"Come in," Bill Calumine said, striding toward the door. "I'm the group's spinner, Bill Calumine's my name." He held the door wide, and the two officers entered the apartment, the vug E. B. Black coming first.

"We wish first to talk to Mrs. Carol Holt Garden," the vug thought-propagated to the group. "Since the corpse was found in her car."

"I'm Carol Garden." She rose to her feet, stood steady and calm as the team of police turned to face her.

"Do we have your permission to scan you telepathically?" Wade Hawthorne asked her.

She glanced at the vidscreen.

"Tell them yes," Bert Barth said. To the two police he said, "I'm Barth, their legal counselor, in Los Angeles. I've advised my clients, this group, Pretty Blue Fox, to cooperate with you fully. They will all be open for telepathic scanning, but they understand—and I know you do, too— that any evidence you obtain in this fashion can't be entered in a court of law."

"That's correct," Hawthorne said, and walked over to Carol.

The vug slid slowly after him, and there was silence.

"It appears to be as Mrs. Garden related on the phone," the vug E. B. Black said, presently. "She discovered the corpse in mid-flight and at once notified us." To its companion the vug continued, "I find no indication that Mrs. Garden had any prior knowledge of the corpse's presence in her car. She does hot appear to have had anything to do with Luckman prior to that discovery. Do you agree?"

"I agree," Hawthorne said slowly. "But—" He glanced

around the room. "There is something in connection with her husband, Mr. Peter Garden. I'd like to examine you next, Mr. Garden."

Pete, his throat dry, rose to his feet. "Can I talk with our attorney a moment in private?" he said to the policeman Hawthorne.

"No," Hawthorne said in a pleasant, even voice. "He's already advised you on this matter; I see no reason to permit you to—"

"I'm aware of what his advice is," Pete said. "I'm interested in learning the consequences if I were to refuse." He walked across the room to the vidphone. "Well?" he said to Barth.