gold pencil out of his breast
pocket and it began to twirl.

I had an idea, all right. "Why not just let me go back home? I'll keep
my mouth shut, I won't blow any fuses or raise any hell, if you'll
excuse the expression."

Someone coughed. The President turned his head out of the circle of
light. "Yes, Mr. Hoover?"

J. Edgar Hoover was diffident. "Er ... Mrs. Miller has been informed
of her husband's ... demise. An honorable one," he hastened to add,
"and is receiving a comfortable pension, paid from the Bureau's
special funds."

"How much?" I wanted to know.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well ... a hundred a month."

I looked at the President. "Bought any butter lately?"

The President strangled a cough. "Have you, Mr. Hoover, bought any
butter lately?"

J. Edgar Hoover couldn't say anything. It wasn't his fault.

I flicked a glance at General Hayes. "How much does it cost the Army
for an antiaircraft gun?" I looked at one of the admirals. "And how
much goes down the drain when you launch a battleship? Or even a PT
boat?"

The President took over. "Rest assured, Mr. Miller. Your wife's
pension is quadrupled, effective immediately." He swung his chair to
face Hoover; "Cash will be transferred tomorrow to the Bureau from the
State Department's special fund. You'll see to that?" to the Old Man.
So that was what he did for a living. That State Department is a good
lifetime job, I understand.

* * * * *

That took a load from my mind, but not all. I spoke to Hoover
directly.

"How is my ... widow?"

As tense and as bad as I felt just then, I was sorry for him.

"Quite well, Mr. Miller. Quite well, considering. It came as a blow to
her, naturally--"

"What about the house?" I asked him. "Is she keeping up the payments?"

He had to admit that he didn't know. The President told him to finish
the payments, pay for the house. Over and above the pension? Over and
above the pension. And I was to get a regular monthly report on how
she was getting along.

"Excuse me, Mr. President. I'd rather not get a regular monthly
report, or any word at all, unless she--unless anything happens to
her."

"No report at all, Pete?" That surprised, him, and he eyed me over the
top of his bifocals.

"She's still young, Mr. President," I said, "and she's just as pretty
as the day we got married. I don't think I'd want to know if ... she
got married again."

The quiet was thick enough to sli