Free Three to Conquer by Eric Frank Russell

you. So how do you know of Jameson? Come to that, how did you know my name?"
     
                  "He knew mine, too," put in Slade.
     
                  "That's a problem I'll solve only in the presence of somebody way up top," said "Harper. He smiled at Pritchard and inquired, "How's your body?"
     
                  "Eh?"
     
                  Out of the other's bafflement Harper extracted a clear, detailed picture, and said in helpful tones, "You have a fish-shaped birthmark on the inside of your left thigh."
     
                  "That's enough for me !" Pritchard stood up, badly worried. He said to Slade, "You keep an eye on this Houdini while I go see what Jameson says." He departed hurriedly.
     
                  Harper asked Slade, "May I have a sheet of paper, please?"
     
                  Extracting one from the desk, Slade slipped it across. He watched Harper take out a pen and prepare to write. The confession after all, he thought. Definitely a nut who'd refuse a thing one moment and give it the next.
     
                  Ignoring these uncomplimentary ideas, Harper waited a few moments, then began to write. He scribbled with great rapidity, finishing a short time before Pritchard's return.
     
                  "He won't see you," announced Pritchard with a that-is-that air.
     
                  "I know." Harper gave him the paper.
     
                  Glancing over it, Pritchard popped his eyes and ran out full tilt. Slade stared after him, turning a questioning gaze upon Harper.
     
                  "That was a complete and accurate transcript of their conversation," Harper informed. "Want to lay any bets against him seeing me now?"
     
                  "No," said Slade, developing the willies. "I don't care to throw away good money."
     
    -
     
                  Jameson proved to be a middle-aged bull of a man with a thick mop of curly, gray hair. His eyes were blue and cold, his manner that of one long accustomed to the exercising of authority. Sitting erect in his chair, he kept one strong forefinger firmly planted on the sheet of paper lying on the desk before him.
     
                  "How did you do it?"
     
                  "Easily enough. I took aim, fired, and down she slid."
     
                  "I'm not asking about that." The finger tapped impatiently. "I am referring to this."
     
                  "Oh, the eavesdropping." Harper pretended to gain an understanding that he had not lost  in the first place. "I did it in the same way the enemy might be able to do it, whenever he wants to know what we're up to."
     
                  "You may go," Jameson said to Pritchard. "I'll call you when I want you." He waited until the door had closed, then fixed his full attention on Harper. "Are you categorically asserting that agents of other powers are able to read our minds at-will?"
     
                  "No."
     
                  "Then, why make such a suggestion?"
     
                  "I'm merely proposing that what one can do, another can do," said Harper. "It's a notion I've nursed for years. So far, I've been unable to find any evidence in support."
     
                  "Obviously you are talking about something you can do. What can you do?"
     
                  "That," said Harper, pointing to the paper.
     
                  Jameson was no fool. He had grasped the idea at the start, but still found considerable difficulty in absorbing it. The manifest explanation was proving indigestible.
     
                  "It would take a telepath to play these sort of tricks."
     
                  "Nothing else but," agreed Harper.
     
                  "Who ever heard of one?"
     
                  Harper