“Did you find him?” the middle-aged woman asked.

“Y-yes,” Meritan said, disconcerted, trying to orient himself in the unfamiliar room.

“How is he? Is he well?”

“I—don’t know right now,” Meritan answered, truthfully. He thought, I must go to New York. And try to help Joan. She’s in this because of me; I have no choice. Even if they catch me because of it… how can I desert her?

Bogart Crofts said, “I didn’t get Mercer.”

He walked away from the empathy box, then turned to glare at it, balefully. “I got Meritan. But I don’t know where he is. At the moment I took hold of the handles of this box, Meritan took hold somewhere else. We were connected and now he knows everything I know. And we know everything he knows, which isn’t much.” Dazed he turned to Secretary Herrick. “He doesn’t know any more about Wilbur Mercer than we do; he was trying to reach him. He definitely is not Mercer.” Crofts was silent then.

“There’s more,” Herrick said, turning to Mr. Lee. “What else did he get from Meritan, Mr. Lee?”

“Meritan is coming to New York to try to find Joan Hiashi,” Mr. Lee said, obligingly reading Crofts’ mind. “He got that from Mr. Meritan during the moment their minds were fused.”

“We’ll prepare to receive Mr. Meritan,” Secretary Herrick said, with a grimace.

“Did I experience what you telepaths engage in all the time?” Crofts asked Mr. Lee.

“Only when one of us comes close to another telepath,” Mr. Lee said. “It can be unpleasant. We avoid it, because if the two minds are thoroughly dissimilar and hence clash, it is psychologically harmful. I would assume you and Mr. Meritan clashed.”

Crofts said, “Listen, how can we continue with this? I know now that Meritan is innocent. He doesn’t know a damn thing about Mercer or the organization that distributes these boxes except its name.”

There was momentary silence.

“But he is one of the few celebrities who has joined the Mercerites,” Secretary Herrick pointed out. He handed a teletype dispatch to Crofts. “And he has done it openly. If you’ll take the trouble to read this—”

“I know he affirmed his loyalty to Mercer on this evening’s TV program,” Crofts said, trembling.

“When you’re dealing with a non-T force originating from another solar system entirely,” Secretary Herrick said, “you must move with care. We will still try to take Meritan, and definitely through Miss Hiashi. We’ll release her from jail and have her followed. When Meritan makes contact with her—”

To Crofts, Mr. Lee said, “Don’t say what you intend, Mr. Crofts. It will permanently damage your career.”

Crofts said, “Herrick, this is wrong. Meritan is innocent and so is Joan Hiashi. If you try to trap Meritan I’ll resign from State.”

“Write out your resignation and hand it to me,” Secretary Herrick said. His face was dark.

“This is unfortunate,” Mr. Lee said. “I would guess that your contact with Mr. Meritan warped your judgment, Mr. Crofts. He has influenced you malignly; shake it off, for the sake of your long career and country, not to mention your family.”

“What we’re doing is wrong,” Crofts repeated.

Secretly Herrick stared at him angrily. “No wonder those empathy boxes have done harm! Now I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I wouldn’t turn back on any condition now.”

He picked up the empathy box which Crofts had used. Lifting it high he dropped it to the floor. The box cracked open and then settled in a heap of irregular surfaces. “Don’t consider that a childish act,” he said. “I want any contact between us and Meritan broken. It can only be harmful.”

“If we capture him,” Crofts said, “he may continue to exert influence over us.” He amended his statement: “Or rather, over me.”

“Be that as it may, I intend to continue,” Secretary Herrick said. “And please present your resignation. Mr. Crofts, I intend to act on that matter as well.” He looked grim and determined.

Mr. Lee said, “Secretary, I can read Mr. Crofts’ mind and I see that he is stunned at this moment. He is the innocent victim of a situation, arranged perhaps by Wilbur Mercer to spread confusion among us. And if you accept Mr. Crofts’ resignation, Mercer will have succeeded.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he accepts it or not,” Crofts said. “Because in any case I’m resigning.”

Sighing, Mr. Lee said, “The empathy box made you suddenly into an involuntary telepath and it was just too much.” He patted Mr. Crofts on the shoulder. “Telepathic power and empathy are two versions of the same thing. It should be called ‘telepathic box.’ Amazing, those non-T individuals; they can build what we can only evolve.”

“Since you can read my mind,” Crofts said to him, “you know what I’m planning to do. I have no doubt you’ll tell Secretary Herrick.”

Grinning blandly, Mr. Lee said, “The Secretary and I are cooperating in the interest of world peace. We both have our instructions.” To Herrick he said, “This man is so upset that he now actually considers switching over. Joining the Mercerites before all the boxes are destroyed. He liked being an involuntary telepath.”

“If you switch,” Herrick said, “you’ll be arrested. I promise it.” Crofts said nothing.

“He has not changed his mind,” Mr. Lee said urbanely, nodding to both men, apparently amused by the situation.

But underneath, Mr. Lee was thinking, A brilliant bold type of stroke by the thing that calls itself Wilbur Mercer, this hooking up of Crofts with Meritan direct. It undoubtedly foresaw that Crofts would receive the strong emanations from the movement’s core. The next step is that Crofts will again consult an empathy box—if he can find one—and this time Mercer itself will address him personally. Address its new disciple.

They have gained a man, Mr. Lee realized. They are ahead. But ultimately we will win. Because ultimately we will manage to destroy all the empathy boxes, and without them Wilbur Mercer can do nothing. This is the only way he has—or it has—of reaching and controlling people, as it has done here with unfortunate Mr. Crofts. Without the empathy boxes the movement is helpless.

At the UWA desk, at Rocky Field in New York City, Joan Hiashi said to the uniformed clerk, “I want to buy a one-way ticket to Los Angeles on the next flight. Jet or rocket; it doesn’t matter. I just want to get there.”

“First class or tourist?” the clerk asked.

“Aw, hell,” Joan said wearily, “just sell me a ticket. Any kind of a ticket.” She opened her purse.

As she started to pay for the ticket a hand stopped hers. She turned—and there stood Ray Meritan, his face twisting with relief.

“What a place to try to pick up your thoughts,” he said. “Come on, let’s go where it’s quiet. You have ten minutes before your flight.”

They hurried together through the building until they came to a deserted ramp. There they stopped, and Joan said, “Listen, Ray, I know it’s a trap for you. That’s why they let me out. But where else can I go except to you?”

Ray said, “Don’t worry about it. They were bound to pick me up sooner or later. I’m sure they know I left California and came here.” He glanced around. “No FBI agents near us yet. At least I don’t pick up anything suggesting it.” He lit a cigarette.

“I don’t have any reason to go back to L.A.,” Joan said, “now that you’re here. I might as well cancel my flight.”

“You know they’re picking up and destroying all the empathy boxes they can,” Ray said.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t know; I was just released half an hour ago. That’s dreadful. They really mean business.”

Ray laughed. “Let’s say they’re really frightened.” He put his arm around her and kissed her. “I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll try to sneak out of this place, go to the lower East Side and rent a little cold-water walk-up. We’ll hide out and find an empathy box they missed.” But, he thought, it’s unlikely; they probably have them all by now. There weren’t that many to start with.