tional English speech.

"Long distance from San Francisco," the voice said.

"It certainly is," Malone said. "Who's calling?"

"San Francisco is calling," the voice said primly.

Malone repressed a desire to tell the voice off, and said instead:
"_Who_ in San Francisco?"

There was a momentary hiatus, and then the voice said: "Mr. Thomas Boyd
is calling, sir. He says this is a scramble call."

Malone took a drag from his cigar and closed his eyes. Obviously the
call was a scramble. If it had been clear, the man would have dialed
direct, instead of going through what Malone now recognized as an
operator.

"Mr. Boyd says he is the Agent-in-Charge of the San Francisco office of
the FBI," the voice offered.

"And quite right, too," Malone told her. "All right. Put him on."

"One moment." There was a pause, a click, another pause and then another
click. At last the operator said: "Your party is ready, sir."

Then there was still another pause. Malone stared at the audio receiver.
He began to whistle "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling."

* * * * *

"Hello? Malone?"

"I'm here, Tom," Malone said guiltily. "This is me. What's the trouble?"

"Trouble?" Boyd said. "There isn't any trouble. Well, not really. Or
maybe it is. I don't know."

Malone scowled at the audio receiver, and for the first time wished he
had gone ahead and had a video circuit put in, so that Boyd could see
the horrendous expression on his face.

"Look," he said. "It's seven here and that's too early. Out there, it's
four, and that's practically ridiculous. What's so important?"

He knew perfectly well that Boyd wasn't calling him just for the fun of
it. The man was a good agent. But why a call at this hour?

Malone muttered under his breath. Then, self-consciously, he squashed
out his cigar and lit a cigarette while Boyd was saying: "Ken, I think
we may have found what you've been looking for."

It wasn't safe to say too much, even over a scrambled circuit. But
Malone got the message without difficulty.

"Yeah?" he said, sitting up on the edge of the couch. "You sure?"

"Well," Boyd said, "no. Not absolutely sure. Not absolutely. But it is
worth your taking a personal look, I think."

"Ah," Malone said cautiously. "An imbecile?"

"No," Boyd said flatly. "Not an imbecile. Definitely not an imbecile. As
a matter of fact, a hell of a fat long way from an imbecile."

Malone glanced at his watch and skimmed ove