"that I
have a feeling we hardly needed the teleportation to escape. It would
just have taken longer, that's all." He paused. "By the way, Tom,
about the stakeout--"

"Luba Garbitsch is being protected as if she were Fort Knox," Boyd
said. "If any Soviet agent tries to approach her with a threat of any
kind, we'll have him nabbed before he can say Ivan Robinovitch."

"Or," Malone suggested, "_Meeneestyerstvoh_--"

"If we waited for that one," Boyd said, "we might have to wait all
day." He paused. "But who's doing it?" he went on. "That's still the
question. Martians? Venerians? Or is that last one Venusians?"

"Aphrodisiacs," Malone suggested diplomatically.

"Thank you, no," Boyd said politely. "I never indulge while on duty."

"Thomas," Malone said, "you are a Rover Boy First-Class."

"Good," Boyd said. "But, meanwhile, who is doing all this? Would you
prefer Evil Beings from the Planet Ploor?"

"I would not," Malone said firmly.

"But I have a strange feeling," Boyd said, "that, in spite of all the
evidence to the contrary, you do not hold with the Interplanetary
Alien Theory."

"Frankly," Malone said, "I'm not sure of anything. Not really. But I
do want to know why, if it's interplanetary aliens doing this stuff,
they're picking such a strange way of going about it."

"Strange?" Boyd said. "What's strange about it? You wouldn't expect
Things from Ploor to come right out and _tell_ us what they want,
would you? It's against custom. It may even be against the law."

"Well, maybe," Malone said. "But it is pretty strange. The difference
between what's happening in Russia and what's happening here--"

"What difference?" Boyd said. "Everybody's confused. Here, and over
there. It all looks the same to me."

"Well, it isn't," Malone said. "Take a look at the paper, for
instance." He tossed the _Post_ at Boyd, who caught it with a
spasmodic clutching motion and reassembled it slowly.

"Why throw things?" Boyd said. "You sore or something?"

"I guess I am," Malone said. "But not at you. It's--somebody or
something. Person or persons unknown."

"Or Ploorians," Boyd said.

"Whatever," Malone said. "But take a look at the paper and see if you
see what I see." He paused. "Does that mean anything?" he said.

"Probably," Boyd said. "We'll figure it out later." He leafed through
the newspaper slowly, pulling thoughtfully at his beard from time to
time. Malone watched him in breathless silence.

"See it?" he