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derived from the parapsychic as my own. Incidentally, you’re the crystal ban reader … although I see you’ve got a modern computer for stock market print-out instead of the old glass case.”
    Henner gave an amused grunt but said nothing, his silence a subtle prod to keep Henry talking.
    “You’re known,” Henry continued obediently, because that was the way the interview ought to proceed, “to have a genius, a second sight into what stocks are going to rise, which will fall, what bond issues will pay the keenest long-term profit. And I can prove that you’re parapsychic.”
    Henner cocked his head slightly to one side, Us amusement deepening, as he tacitly encouraged Henry to produce his proof. Darrow spread the graph out on the table. “I know you’ve followed the newsmedia coverage on us, so you’re familiar with this sort of graph. What you may not immediately appreciate is the fact that this is your graph.”
    Henner became immobile with attention.
    “When you had your last routine physical a month ago, your physician employed a Goosegg. He didn’t realizethat it wasn’t his own office model so he’s blameless. You did, however, experience what we call an Incident and it is recorded on this graph, here and here. I believe the Incident was in connection with the Allied Metals and Mining merger in which you managed quite a ‘killing.’ ”
    “You don’t read thought from an EEG graph, Darrow.”
    “Hardly. But you placed a phone call directly you were through your physical to your office and within the next few hours the merger was announced … but not before you had acquired a tidy pile of Allied stock. Are my
facts
correct?”
    Henner nodded slowly, his eyes, narrowed to intense slits, watching Henry Darrow’s face.
    “That’s proof,” Henry said, rustling the graph paper, “that you’re parapsychic, Mr. Henner.”
    The silence which ensued designed to make Darrow exceedingly uncomfortable, did not. For a long space, Henry returned George Henner’s stare, then folded his arms and gazed around the beautiful room. Finally he turned back to Henner and smiled.
    “Blackmail?” asked Henner.
    Darrow shook his head.
    “No. You’d be far too clever for that. No, I’d hazard the guess that you want to borrow my Talent as you call it, to make your fortunes? That would still be essentially blackmail, wouldn’t it Darrow?”
    Henry pursed his lips a little, expressing dubiety.
    “Well, then what is it you want from me? It’s something.”
    “Actually, it’s the twelve acre tract of land on the Palisades.”
    Once again Henry wished he were a telepath to read the emotions swiftly passing through George Henner’s mind. He had startled the financier, he had touched the most vulnerable point of the shrewd man’s life: his intense love, and need for, the beautiful estate of Beechwoods. It hadbeen in Henner’s family for a hundred and forty years, was a showplace which few saw. And Henner’s need of Beechwoods was as great and for the same reasons as Henry Darrow’s.
    “How could you know?” demanded Henner in a hoarse whisper.
    “That the State intends to confiscate all privately held lands within a hundred mile radius of the Jerhattan city limits? I know because it is as important to me as it is to you to know these things.”
    Henner was on his feet, pacing to release the energy of his anger. In a barely audible monotone he inventively assigned destinations to the State en masse, the needs of the unhoused, unwashed multitudes in general and those particular officials who had failed to keep Henner’s ancestral home inviolate.
    “If, however, the property is already owned by a religious, medical, educational or charitable institution. Which will accommodate a sufficient number of our ever-expanding population, they cannot confiscate your property even under the terms of Section 91, Paragraph 12 of the Housing Act of 1998.”
    “This is 1997, man. That Act isn’t passed yet. I can