Part 9 (1/2)

”No, I won't kill you. I'll simply warn you so you'll have no excuse for such idiocy again.” He smiled.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”You know, Mr. Masterson, I don't know how much they pay you by the year to sit around here, but I doubt that it's as much as I pay my beaters for a week end of hunting. So obviously, even if I were for sale, the man who could afford the tab could pick you up with his small change.” He paused thoughtfully.

”Come to think of it, if your annual pay is more than my beaters get, I'll have to raise their wages. They do their job--intelligently.”

He turned, then swung back for an instant. The bronze b.u.t.ton had come out of his lapel. He tossed it on Masterson's desk.

”Here,” he said. ”A present for you. I can't stand the smell of it.”

Dully, the two men sat, watching the closed door. At long last, Rayson turned his head with obvious effort, to stare at Masterson, who recovered a few milliseconds more slowly.

But Masterson's recovery was the more violent of the two. He stared blankly at Rayson for an instant, then sprang to his feet.

”Why that young...! I'll turn him every way but loose.”

He sprang around his desk and took a stride toward the door.

”No, no.” Rayson raised a hand warningly. ”This is no way to handle such a matter.” He smiled gently.

”After all, this young man succeeded in immobilizing both of us for a considerable time. In the first place, I doubt you'd be able to catch him. In the second, do you think he would stand still while you mauled him by yourself?”

Masterson turned around, frowning. ”He caught me unprepared,” he snarled. ”He can't do that to me again. Not while I'm ready for him.”

”No? I think he could. Any time, any place, and under almost any conditions. And I have much more experience in these matters than you, my friend. This is a very dangerous young man, and he requires special handling. Sit down and let us consider this young man.”

Masterson growled impatiently, but returned to his desk. He sat down, glowering at his companion.

”Suppose you tell me what you're talking about,” he demanded.

Rayson looked down at his hands, which rested on the desk.

”We have been talking about mental influence, I believe. In fact, we mentioned this very matter to our young friend. This is correct?”

”Sure we did. So?”

”And our young man was quite positive that he could never be so controlled and that any effort to do so would be immediately apparent to him. This is also correct, I believe?”

”That's about the way of it, yes. What are you driving at?”

Rayson sighed. ”Let me remind you of something, then. You are, of course; of the Ministerial Investigative Force, just as I am. But our specialties are different. Your dealings are with the teaching and preparation of youth for useful citizens.h.i.+p, and with the prevention of certain gross misbehavior. Thus, you deal with those more obvious and material deviations from the socially acceptable and have little experience with the more dangerous and even less acceptable deviations with which I must concern myself.” He smiled faintly.

”Your handling of this young man just now would indicate a quite complete lack of understanding of the specialty I have prepared myself for. And even if there were no other reasons, it would serve to point up the reason for our difference in relative rank. You must admit you got something less than desirable results.” He cleared his throat and looked disapprovingly at Masterson.

”Of course, you are familiar with stories of mental influence. And I have no doubt that you have had some experience with this type of thing, even though it is not in your direct line of work.”

Masterson shook his head. ”Sorry,” he admitted. ”This is the first time anyone's ever pulled anything like that on me.”