you can find it, Mr. Maloney?"

"I'll try," Malone promised. He went down the long corridor and
stopped at an unmarked door. It was at least an even chance, he told
himself, and opened the door.

The room inside appeared to be mostly desk. The gigantic slab of wood
sat against the far wall of the room, in the right-hand corner and
spreading over toward the center. It appeared, in the soft half-light
of the room, to be waiting for somebody to walk into its lair. Malone
was sure, at first sight, that this desk ate people; it was just the
type: big and dark and glowering and massive.

There wasn't anybody seated behind it, which reinforced his belief.
The desk had eaten its master. Now it was out of control and they
would have to have it shot. Malone took a deep breath and tried not to
veer.

Then he heard a voice.

"Sit down, Mr. Malone," the voice said. "How about you having a drink
while we talk? If this is going to be so friendly."

The voice didn't belong to the desk. It belonged, unmistakably, to Big
Cheese himself. Malone turned and saw him, sitting in the left-hand
corner of the room behind a low table. There was another empty chair
facing Manelli, and Malone went over and sat in it.

"A drink?" he said. "Okay. Sure."

"Bourbon and soda, isn't it?" Manelli said. He stood up.

"Your research department gets fast answers," Malone said. "Bourbon
and soda it is."

"After all," Manelli said, shrugging slightly, "a person in my
position, he has to make sure he knows what is what, and all the time.
It's routine, what you call S. O. P. Standard Operating Procedure,
they call it."

"I'm sure they do," Malone murmured politely.

"And besides," Manelli said, "you are a well-known type. I thought I
knew the name when old Fred mentioned it, or I would never talk to
you. You know how it is."

Malone nodded. "Well," he said, as Manelli went over to a small
portable bar at the back of the room and got busy, "we're being frank,
anyway."

"And why shouldn't we be frank, Mr. Malone?" Manelli said. "It's a
nice, friendly conversation, and what have we got on our minds?"

For the first time, as he turned, Malone got a glimpse of something
behind the structured and muscular face. There was panic there, just a
tiny seed under iron control, but it showed in the eyes and in the
muscles of the cheek.

"Just a nice, friendly conversation," Malone said. Manelli brought the
drinks over and set them on the table.

"Take