more interested in the product than in
her change."

"This doesn't seem to make much sense," Larry Woolford protested. "You
have any ideas at all?"

"The question is," Hackett said, "where did she get it? Is she connected
with one of the embassies and acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that
puts it in your lap again possibly--"

The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and grumbled, "Yeah? Steven
Hackett speaking."

He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his feet.
"Come on, Larry," he snapped. "This is it."

Larry stood, too. "Who was that?"

"Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!"

-------------------------------------

La Calvados was the swankiest French restaurant in Greater Washington, a
city not devoid of swank restaurants. Only the upper-echelons in
governmental circles could afford its tariffs; the clientele was more apt
to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists on the make. Larry
Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a reputation spending
money far beyond your obvious pay status.

Fredrick, the _maitre de hotel_, however, was able to greet them both by
name. "Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford," he bowed. He obviously didn't
approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where counterfeiters were
picked up the authorities.

"Where is she?" Steve said, looking out over the public dining room.

Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, "See here, Monsieur Hackett, you
didn't expect to, ah, arrest the young lady _here_ during our lunch hour?"

Steve looked at him impatiently. "We don't exactly beat them over the head
with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to the
paddywagon."

"Of course not, monsieur, but--"

Larry Woolford's chief dined here several times a week and was probably on
the best of terms with Fredrick whose decisions on tables and whose degree
of servility had a good deal of influence on a man's status in Greater
Washington. Larry said wearily, "We can wait until she leaves. Where is
she?"

Fredrick had taken them to one side.

"Do you see the young lady over near the window on the park? The rather
gauche appearing type?"

It was a teenager, all right. A youngster up to her eyebrows in the
attempt to project sophistication.

Steve said, "Do you know who she is?"

"No," Fredrick said. "Hardly our usual clientele."

"Oh?" Larry said. "She looks like