Free The demolished man by Alfred Bester Page A

investigation? To herd a
    group of innocent people together like cattle?"
    "They're not innocent," Beck growled. "A man's been killed."
    "All in this house are innocent, Beck. They will be presumed to be innocent and
    treated with every courtesy until the truth is uncovered."
    "What?" Beck sneered. "This gang of liars? Treated with courtesy? This rotten,
    lousy, high-society pack of hyenas..."
    "How dare you! Apologize at once."
    Beck took a deep breath and clenched his fists angrily.
    "Inspector Beck, did you hear me? Apologize to these ladies and gentlemen at
    once."
    Beck glared at Powell, then turned to the staring guests. "My apologies," he
    mumbled.
    "And I'm warning you, Beck," Powell snapped. "If anything like this happens
    again, I'll break you. I'll send you straight back to the gutter you came from.
    Now get out of my sight."
    Powell descended to the floor of the hall and smiled at the guests. Suddenly he
    was again transformed. His bearing conveyed the subtle suggestion that he was at
    heart one of them. There was even a tinge of fashionable corruption in his
    diction.
    "Ladies and gentlemen: Of course I know you all by sight. I'm not that famous so
    let me introduce myself. Lincoln Powell, Prefect of the Psychotic Division.
    Prefect and Psychotic. Two antiquated titles, eh? We won't let them bother us."
    He advanced toward Maria Beaumont with hand outstretched. "Dear Madame Maria,
    what an exciting climax for your wonderful party. I envy all of you. You'll make
    history."
    A pleased rustle ran through the guests. The lowering hostility began to fade.
    Maria took Powell's hand dazedly, mechanically beginning to preen herself.
    "Madame..." He confused and delighted her by kissing her brow with paternal
    warmth. "You've had a trying time, I know. These boors in uniform."
    "Dear Prefect..." She was a little girl, clinging to his arm. "I've been so
    terrified."
    "Is there a quiet room where we can all be comfortable and endure this
    exasperating experience?"
    "Yes. The study, dear Prefect Powell." She was actually beginning to lisp.
    Powell snapped his fingers behind him. To the Captain who stepped forward, he
    said: "Conduct Madame and her guests to the study. No guards. The ladies and
    gentlemen are to be left in privacy."
    "Mr. Powell, sir..." The Captain cleared his throat. "About Madame's guests. One
    of them arrived after the felony was reported. An attorney, Mr. ¼maine."
    Powell found Jo ¼maine, Attorney-At-Law 2, in the crowd. He shot him a
    telepathic greeting.
    "Jo?"
    "Hi."
    "What brings you to this Blind Tiger?"
    "Business. Called by my cli(Ben Reich)ent."
    "That shark? Makes me suspicious. Wait here with Reich. We'll get squared off."
    "That was an effective act with Beck."
    "Hell. You cracked our scramble?"
    "Not a chance. But I know you two. Gentle Jax playing a thick cop is one for the
    books."
    Beck broke in from across the hall where he was apparently sulking: "Don't give
    it away, Jo."
    "Are you crazy?" It was as though ¼maine had been requested not to smash every
    sacred ethic of the Guild. He radiated a blast of indignation that made Beck
    grin.
    All this during the second in which Powell again kissed Maria's brow with chaste
    devotion and gently disengaged himself from her tremulous grasp.
    "Ladies and gentlemen: we'll meet again in the study."
    The crowd of guests moved off, conducted by the Captain. They were chattering
    with renewed animation. It was all beginning to take on the aspect of a fabulous
    new form of entertainment. Through the buzz and the laughter, Powell felt the
    iron elbows of a rigid telepathic block. He recognized those elbows and
    permitted his astonishment to show.
    "Gus! Gus Tate!"
    "Oh. Hello, Powell."
    "You? Lurking & Slinking?"
    "Gus?" Beck popped out. "Here? I never tagged him."
    "What the devil are you hiding for?"
    Chaotic response of anger, chagrin, fear of lost reputation, self-deprecation,
    shame---
    "Sign off, Gus. Your pattern's trapped in a feedback. Won't do