"Charles L. Harness-Time Trap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

"I, and perhaps other League officers, would like to know more about Mr. Poole," came the quiet,
faintly metallic voice. "He is not a member of the League, and yet Legal and Assassination welcome him
in their councils. I think we should be provided some assurance that he has no associations with the
Provinarch's administration. One traitor could sell the lives of all of us."
The Legal spokesman arose again. "Major Troy's objections are in some degree merited. We don't
know who Mr. Poole is. His mind is absolutely impenetrable to telepathic probes. His fingerprint and eye
vein patterns are a little obscure. Our attempts at identification"-- he laughed sheepishly-- "always key
out to yourself, Major. An obvious impossibility. So far as the world is concerned, Mr. Poole is an old
man who might have been born yesterday! All we know of him is his willingness to co-operate with us to
the best of his ability-- which, I can assure you, is tremendous. The catasynthesizer has established his
sympathetic attitude beyond doubt. Don't forget, too, that he could be charged as a principal in this
assassination and devitalized himself. On the whole, he is our man. If our killers are caught, we must use
him."
Troy turned and studied the little lawyer with narrowing eyes; Poole's face seemed oddly familiar. The
old man returned the gaze sardonically, with a faint suggestion of a smile.
"Time is growing short, Major," urged the Assassination chairman. "The Poole matter has already
received the attention of qualified League investigators. It is not a proper matter for discussion at this
time. If you are satisfied with the arrangements, will you and Mrs. Troy please assemble the childless
married couples on your list? The men can draw lots from the fish bowl on the side table. The red ball
decides." he eyed Troy expectantly.
Still standing, Troy looked down at the woman in the adjacent seat. Her lips were half-parted, her
black eyes somber pools as she looked up at her husband.
"Well, Ann?" he telepathed.
Her eyes seemed to look through him and far beyond. "He will make you draw the red ball, Jon," she
murmured, trancelike. "Then he will die, and I will die. But Jon Troy will never die. Never die. Never die.
Nev-- "
"Wake up, Ann!" Troy shook her by the shoulder. To the puzzled faces about them. he explained
quickly, "My wife is something of a seeress." He 'pathed again: "Who is he?"
Ann Troy brushed the black hair from her brow slowly. "It's all confused. He is someone in this
room-- " She started to get up.
"Sit down, dear," said Troy gently. "If I'm to draw the red ball, I may as well cut this short." He slid
past her into the aisle, strode to the side table, and thrust his hand into the hold in the box sitting there.
Every eye was on him.
His hand hit the invisible fish bowl with its dozen-odd plastic balls. Inside the bowl, he touched the little
spheres at random while he studied the people in the room. All old friends, except-- Poole. That
tantalizing face. Poole was now staring like the rest, except that beads of sweat were forming on his
forehead.
Troy swirled the balls around the bowl; the muffled clatter was audible throughout the room. He felt his
fingers close on one. His hands were perspiring freely. With an effort he forced himself to drop it. He
chose another, and looked at Poole. The latter was frowning. Troy could not bring his hand out of the
bowl. His right arm seemed partially paralyzed. He dropped the ball and rolled the mass around again.
Poole was now smiling. Troy hesitated a moment, then picked a ball from the center of the bowl. It felt
slightly moist. He pulled it out, looked at it grimly, and held it up for all to see.
***


"Just 'path that!" whispered the jail warden reverently to the night custodian.
"You know I can't telepath," said the latter grumpily. "What are they saying?"
"Not a word all night. They seem to be taking a symposium of the best piano concertos since maybe
the twentieth century. Was Chopin twentieth or twenty-first? Anyhow, they're up to the twenty-third