lone said.

The doctor nodded. "Undoubtedly," he said judiciously. "Who isn't? And
where, by the way, is the girl?"

"Over there." Malone pointed. News apparently traveled with great
speed in Moscow, MVD and censorship notwithstanding. At any rate, he
thought, it traveled with great speed to the ears of the Embassy
staff.

The doctor lifted Lou's limp wrist to time her pulse, his lips pursed
and his eyes focused on a far wall.

"What have you heard?" Malone said.

"The MVD boys are extremely worried," the doctor said. "Extremely." He
didn't let go of the wrist, a marvel of which Malone had never grown
tired. Doctors always seemed to be able, somehow, to examine a patient
and carry on a conversation about totally different things, without
even showing the strain. This one was no exception. Malone watched in
awe.

"According to the reports we got from them," the doctor said, "you
wandered off from _Trotkin's_ without your escort."

"Well," Malone said at random, "I didn't think to leave them a
farewell note. I hope they don't think I disliked their company."

"Officially," the doctor said, lifting Lou's left eyelid and gazing
thoughtfully into the blue iris thus exposed, "they're afraid you're
lost, and they were apologetic as all hell about it to the
ambassador." The iris appeared to lose its fascination; the doctor
dropped the eyelid and fished in his black bag, which he had put on
the seat next to Lou.

"And unofficially?" Malone asked.

"Unofficially," the doctor said, "we've got news of a riot at
_Trotkin's_ tonight, in which you seem to have been involved. Mr.
Malone, you must be quite a barroom brawler when you're at home."

"Frankly," Malone said, "I'm a little out of practice. And I hope I
never have the chance to get back _into_ practice."

The doctor nodded, removing a stethoscope from the bag and applying it
to Lou's chest. He waited a second, frowned and then took the plugs
out of his ears. "I know just what you mean," he said. "You might be
interested to know the first unofficial score of that little match."

"Score?" Malone said.

The doctor nodded again. "Three concussions," he said, "one possible
skull fracture, a broken arm, two bitten hands, and a large and varied
assortment of dental difficulties and plain hysteria. No dead,
however. I really don't understand why not."

"Well," Malone said, "nobody wanted to create an international
incident."

"Hmf," the doctor said. "I see. Or I