Where do I pick them up?"

"Box office," the A-in-C said sourly. "I tell you, everybody in
Washington must be nuts. The things I have to go through--"

"Thanks," Malone said. "Thanks a lot. Thanks a million. If there's
ever anything I can do for you, let me know and I'll do it." He hung
up and went back to the bar, walking very carefully.

"Well?" Dorothy said. "Where do we go tonight? Joe's hot-dog stand? Or
a revival of _The Wild Duck_ in a loft on Bleecker Street?"

There was pride in Malone's manner as he stood there on his feet.
There was just a touch of hauteur as he said, "We'll see _Hot Seat_."

And he was repaid for all of the Agent-in-Charge's efforts. Dorothy's
eyes went wide with appreciation and awe. "My goodness," she said. "A
man of his word--and what a tough word, too! Mr. Malone, I
congratulate you."

"Nothing," Malone said. "A mere absolute nothing."

"Nothing, the man says," Dorothy muttered. "My goodness. And modest,
too. Tell me, how do you do, Mr. Malone?"

"Me?" Malone said. "Very well, so far." He finished his drink. "And
you?"

"I work at it," she said cryptically.

"May I have another drink?"

Malone gave her a grin. "Another?" he said. "Have two. Have a dozen."

"And what," she said, "would I do with a dozen drinks? Don't answer. I
think I can guess. But let's just take them one at a time, okay?" She
signaled to the bartender. "Wally, I'll have a martini. And Mr. Malone
will have whatever it is he has, I imagine."

"Bourbon and soda," Malone said, and gave the bartender a grin too,
just to make sure he didn't feel left out. The sun was shining
(although it was evening outside), and the birds were singing
(although, Malone reflected, catching a bird on 42nd Street and
Broadway might take a bit of doing), and all was well with the world.

There was only a tiny, nagging, disturbing thought in his mind. It had
to do with Mike Fueyo and the Silent Spooks, and a lot of red
Cadillacs. But he pushed it resolutely away. It had nothing to do with
the evening he was about to spend. Nothing at all.

After all, this _was_ supposed to be a vacation, wasn't it?

"Well, Mr. Malone," Dorothy said, when the drinks had arrived.

"Very well indeed," Malone said, raising his. "And just call me Ken.
Didn't I tell you that once before?"

"You did," she said. "And I asked you to call me Dorothy. Not Dotty.
Try and remember that."

"I will remember it," Malone said, "just as long as ever I liv