ge without difficulty.

"Yeah?" he said, sitting up on the edge of the couch. "You sure?"

"Well," Boyd said, "no. Not absolutely sure. Not absolutely. But it is
worth your taking a personal look, I think."

"Ah," Malone said cautiously. "An imbecile?"

"No," Boyd said flatly. "Not an imbecile. Definitely not an imbecile.
As a matter of fact, a hell of a fat long way from an imbecile."

Malone glanced at his watch and skimmed over the airline timetables in
his mind. "I'll be there nine o'clock, your time," he said. "Have a
car waiting for me at the field."

* * * * *

As usual, Malone managed to sleep better on the plane than he'd been
able to do at home. He slept so well, in fact, that he was still
groggy when he stepped into the waiting car.

"Good to see you, Ken," Boyd said briskly, as he shook Malone's hand.

"You, too, Tom," Malone said sleepily. "Now what's all this about?" He
looked around apprehensively. "No bugs in this car, I hope?" he said.

Boyd gunned the motor and headed toward the San Francisco Freeway.
"Better not be," he said, "or I'll fire me a technician or two."

"Well, then," Malone said, relaxing against the upholstery, "where is
this guy, and who is he? And how did you find him?"

Boyd looked uncomfortable. It was, somehow, both an awe-inspiring and
a slightly risible sight. Six feet one and one-half inches tall in his
flat feet, Boyd posted around over two hundred and twenty pounds of
bone, flesh and muscle. He swung a pot-belly of startling proportions
under the silk shirting he wore, and his face, with its wide nose,
small eyes and high forehead, was half highly mature, half startlingly
childlike. In an apparent effort to erase those childlike qualities,
Boyd sported a fringe of beard and a moustache which reminded Malone
of somebody he couldn't quite place.

But whoever the somebody was, his hair hadn't been black, as Boyd's
was...

He decided it didn't make any difference. Anyhow, Boyd was speaking.

"In the first place," he said, "it isn't a guy. In the second, I'm not
exactly sure who it is. And in the third, Ken, I didn't find it."

There was a little silence.

"Don't tell me," Malone said. "It's a telepathic horse, isn't it? Tom,
I just don't think I could stand a telepathic horse...."

"No," Boyd said hastily. "No. Not at all. No horse. It's a dame. I
mean a lady." He looked away from the road and flashed a glance at
Malone. His eyes se