oys. But I had to make
absolutely sure."

Boyd said, "Oh," chopped a small section out of the center of his
beard and added, "Damn. My hand's shaky."

"Well," Malone said, "that's the story."

"It's a hell of a story," Boyd said. "And I don't want you to think I
don't believe it. Because I don't."

"It's true," Malone said.

"That doesn't affect me," Boyd said. "I'll go along with the gag. But
enough is enough. Vanishing teenagers. Ridiculous."

"Just so you go along with me," Malone said.

"Oh, I'll go along," Boyd said. "This is my vacation too, isn't it?
What's the next move, Mastermind?"

"We're going down to that warehouse," Malone said decisively. "I've
got a hunch the kids have been hiding there ever since they left their
homes yesterday."

"Malone," Boyd said. "What?"

"You mean we're going down to the warehouse _tonight_?" Boyd said.

Malone nodded.

"I might have known," Boyd said. "I might have known!"

"Tom," Malone said. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Boyd said. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine and
dandy. I think I'm going to commit suicide, but don't let that bother
you."

"What happened?" Malone said.

Boyd stared at him. "You happened," he said. "You and the teen-agers
and the bloody damn warehouse happened. Three days' work--ruined."

Malone scratched his head, found out that his head still hurt and put
his hand down again. "What work?" he said.

"For three days," Boyd said, "I've been taking this blonde chick all
over New York. Wining her. Dining her. Spending money as if I were
Burris himself, instead of the common or garden variety of FBI agent.
Night clubs. Theaters. Bars. The works. Malone, we were getting along
famously. It was wonderful."

"And tonight--" Malone said.

"Tonight," Boyd said, "was supposed to be the night. The big night.
The payoff. We've got a date for dinner--T-bone steak, two inches
thick, with mushrooms. At her apartment, Malone. She will probably--"

"You'll have to break it," Malone said sympathetically. "Too bad, but
it can't be helped now. You can pick up a sandwich before you go."

"A sandwich," Boyd said with great dignity, "is not my idea of
something to eat."

"Look, Tom--" Malone began.

"All right, all right," Boyd said tiredly. "Duty is duty. I'll go call
her."

"Fine," Malone said. "And meanwhile, I'll get us a little insurance."

"Insurance?"

"John Henry Fernack," Malone said, "and his Safe and Loft Squad."