the
allegation. And, as a matter of fact, defy the allegator. But that's
neither here nor there," he continued. "If that's the difference, what
are the similarities?"

Fernack drew in a deep, hissing breath, and when he spoke his voice
was as calm and quiet as a coiled cobra. "The both of you come up with
the goddamnedest answers to things. Things I never knew about or even
cared about before. Things I wish I'd never heard of. Things that
don't have any explanation. And--" He stopped, his face dark in the
screen. Malone wondered what color it was going to turn, and decided
on purple as a good choice.

"Well?" Malone said at last.

"And you're always so goddamned right it makes me sick," Fernack
finished flatly. He rubbed a hand through his hair and stared into the
screen at Malone. "How did you know all this stuff?" he said.

Malone waited one full second, while Fernack got darker and darker on
the screen. When he judged that the color was right, he said quietly,
"I'm prescient. And thanks a lot, John Henry; just send the reports to
me personally, at 69th Street. By messenger. So long."

He cut the circuit just as Fernack started: "Now, Malone--"

With a satisfied, somewhat sheepish smile, Malone dialed another
number. This time a desk sergeant told him politely that Lynch wasn't
at the precinct, and wouldn't arrive until noon.

Malone had Lynch's home number. He dialed it.

It was a long wait before the lieutenant answered, and he didn't look
much like a police officer when his face finally showed up on the
screen. His hair was uncombed and he was unshaven. His eyes were
slightly bleary, but he was definitely awake.

"Oh," Malone said. "Hello."

"Hi, there," Lynch said with enormous cheerfulness. "Old buddy-boy.
Old pal. Old friend."

"What's wrong?" Malone said.

"Wrong?" Lynch said. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I just wanted
to thank you for not waking me up last night. I only waited for your
call until midnight. Then I decided I just wasn't very important to
you. You obviously had much bigger things on your mind."

"As a matter of fact," Malone said, speculatively eying Lynch's
figure, dressed in a pair of trousers and a T-shirt, "you're right."

"That's what I thought," Lynch said. "And I decided that, since you
were so terribly busy, it could wait until I woke up. Or even until I
got down to the station. How about it, _buddy-boy_?"

"Listen, Lynch," Malone said, "we made a bet. Ten to one.