clear when he got it out, so he added:
"Your secretary got my name wrong. She thinks I'm Mr. Melon--Kenneth
J. Melon."

"But you're not," Willcoe said.

Malone resisted an impulse to announce that he was really Lamont
Cranston. "I'm Kenneth J. Malone," he said.

"Ah," Willcoe said. "Quite amusing. Imagine my mistaking you for a Mr.
Melon, when you're really Mr. Malone." He paused, and his face got
even more wrinkled. "But I don't know you under either name," he said.
"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to Mr. Manelli," Malone said.

"But Mr. Aoud--"

"Mr. Aoud," Malone said, wondering if it sounded as silly to Willcoe
as it did to him, "isn't in. So I thought you might be able to arrange
an appointment for this afternoon."

Willcoe bit his lip. "Mr. Manelli isn't in just now," he said.

"Yes," Malone said. "I didn't think he would be. That's why I want to
arrange an appointment for later, when he _will_ be in."

"Does Mr. Manelli know you?" Willcoe said suspiciously, the wrinkles
deepening again.

"He knows my boss," Malone said carefully. "You just tell him that
this is something that ought to be worth time and money to him. His
time, and his money."

"Hmm," Willcoe said. "I see. Would you wait a moment, Mr. Mel--Mr.
Malone?"

The screen blanked out immediately. The wait this time was slightly
longer.

And the next face that appeared on the screen was that of Cesare "Big
Cheese" Antonio Manelli, the nearly invisible cog.

For a cog, the face was not a bad one. It was strong and well-muscled,
and it had dark, wavy hair running along the top. At the sides of the
face, the hair was greying slightly, and behind the grey two large
ears stuck out. Manelli's nose was a long, faintly aquiline affair and
his eyes were very pleasant and candid. They were light grey.

"Aha," Manelli said. "You are Mr. Malone, right?" His voice was
guttural, but it was obvious that he was trying for control. "I regret
announcing that I was out, Mr. Malone," he said. "But a man in my
position--I like privacy, Mr. Malone, and I try to keep privacy for
myself. Let me request you to answer a question, Mr. Malone: do I know
you, Mr. Malone?"

"Not personally," Malone said. "I--"

"But I'm supposed to know your boss," Manelli said. "I don't know him,
either, so far."

Malone shrugged. "I'm sure you do," he said, and dropped the name
almost casually: "Andrew J. Burris."

Manelli raised his eyebrows. "So that's who you are," h