“I will,” Maria called. “I will, dear prefect…”

“In the course of that game, old D’Courtney was killed. We’re almost positive it was premeditated murder. We’ll be certain after Lab has finished its work. But let’s assume that it is a Triple-A Felony. That will enable us to play another game… a game called ‘Murder.’ ”

There was an uncertain response from the guests. Powell continued on the same casual course, carefully turning the most shocking crime in seventy years into a morsel of unreality.

“In the game of ‘Murder,’ ” he said, “A make-believe victim is killed. A make-believe detective must discover who killed the victim. He asks questions of the make-believe suspects. Everyone must tell the truth, except the killer who is permitted to lie. The detective compares stories, deduces who is lying, and uncovers the killer. I thought you might enjoy playing this game.”

A voice asked: “How?”

Another called: “I’m just one of the tourists.”

More laughter.

“A murder investigation,” Powell smiled, “explores three facets of a crime. First, the motive. Second, the method. Third, the opportunity. Our Lab people are taking care of the second two. The first we can discover in our game. And if we do, we’ll be able to crack the second two problems that have Lab stumped now. Did you know that they can’t figure out what killed D’Courtney? Did you know that D’Courtney’s daughter has disappeared? She left the house while you were playing ‘Sardine.’ Did you know that D’Courtney’s guards were mysteriously short-circuited? Yes, indeed. Somebody robbed them of a full hour in time. We’d all like to know just how.”

They were hanging at the very edge of the trap, breathless, fascinated. It had to be sprung with infinite caution.

“Death, disappearance, and time-theft… we can find out all about them through motive. I’ll be the make-believe detective. You’ll be the make-believe suspects. You’ll tell me the truth… all except the killer, of course. We’ll expect him to lie. But we’ll trap him and bring this party to a triumphant finish if you’ll give me permission to make a telepathic examination of each of you.”

“Oh!” cried Maria in alarm.

“Wait, Madame. Understand me. All I want is your permission. I won’t have to peep. Because, you see, if all the innocent suspects grant permission, then the one who refuses must be the guilty. He alone will be forced to protect himself from peeping.”

“Can he pull that?” Reich whispered to ¼maine.

¼maine nodded.

“Just picture the scene for a moment.” Powell was building the drama for them, turning the room into a stage. “I ask formally: ‘Will you permit me to make a TP examination?’ Then I go around this room…” He began a slow circuit, bowing to each of the guests in turn. “And the answers come… ‘Yes… Yes… Of course… Why not?… Certainly… Yes… Yes…’ And then suddenly a dramatic pause.” Powell stopped before Reich, erect, terrifying." ‘You, sir,’ I repeat. ‘Will you give me your permission to peep?’ ”