east, no verbal answer.

One didn't seem to be needed.

When he finally came up for air, he said: "Lou..."

"Yes, Ken?"

"Lou, where are you going from here?"

Lou stepped back a pace. "What?" she said.

"I mean, back to New York?" Malone said. "Or someplace else? I mean--
well, what are you going to do?"

"Oh," Lou said. "Oh, yes. I'll be going back to New York. After all,
Ken, I do have a living to make, such as it is, and Sir Lewis is
expecting me."

"I don't know," Malone said, "but it still sounds funny. A girl like
you working for--well, for the Psychical Research people. Ghosts and
ectoplasm and all that."

Lou stepped back another pace. "Now, wait a minute," she said. "You
seemed to need their information, all right."

"But that was--oh, well," Malone said. "Never mind. Maybe I'm silly.
It really doesn't matter."

"I guess it doesn't, now," she said. "Except that it does mean I've
got to leave for New York almost at once."

"Can you cut out that 'almost'?" Malone said. "Because I've got to be
there myself, and right away. If you hurry, we can get the same
plane."

"That would be great," she said.

"Okay, then," Malone said. "Don't you worry about a thing, I'll take
care of reservations and everything."

"My, my," Lou said. "What it must be like to have all that pull and
influence."

"What?" Malone said.

Lou grinned. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing."

"Then it's all settled. I'll take care of the reservations, and we'll
go in together," Malone said.

"Fair enough," Lou said, "my fine feathered Fed."

* * * * *

Actually, it took Malone nearly three hours to get everything set in
Washington for his New York departure. He had to make a verbal report
to Andrew J. Burris first, and that consumed quite a lot of time,
since Burris was alternately shocked, horrified, gleeful and confused
about the whole trip, and spent most of his time interrupting Malone
and crying out for God's vengeance, mercy, justice or understanding.

Then Malone had to dictate a longer report for the written record.
This didn't take quite as long, since there were no interruptions, but
by the time it was over he felt as if he were going out to become a
Carthusian monk. He felt, as he rubbed his raw throat, that it
wouldn't be a bad idea at all to take a nice vow of silence for
awhile. He could write people little notes, and they would all treat
him kindly and gently. He would be pointed out to strangers, and
people