t. Each of the agents, on
a stakeout job like the Garbitsch one, would be carrying personal
communicators, and Malone could hear the voice of the agent-in-charge
as he spoke to them.

He couldn't make out all the words, and it wasn't important anyhow.
He'd know soon enough, he kept telling himself; just as soon as the
A-in-C came back and reported.

It seemed like about twelve years before he did.

"She's all right," he said. "Nothing to worry about; she's probably
working late at her office, that's all. She hasn't gone home yet."

"Want to bet?" Malone snapped.

"Don't tempt me," the A-in-C said. "I wouldn't take your money--it's
probably counterfeit, printed in Washington."

"I'll give you ten to one," Malone said.

"Ten to one, I'll take," the A-in-C said rapidly. "Ten to one is like
taking candy from a traffic cop. I'm no amateur, even if I am stuck
away in dull little old New York--and I know the boys I've got on
stakeout. I'll check, and--"

"Let me know when you do," Malone said. "I've got some long-distance
calls to make."

* * * * *

Forty-five minutes later, he had all the news he needed. Spot checks
on PRS offices on the West Coast, where it wasn't closing time yet,
showed that all the executive officers had suddenly felt the need of
extended vacations to parts unknown.

That, if not exactly cheering news, was still welcome; Malone had more
backing for his theory.

An overseas call to New Scotland Yard in London took a little more
time, and several arguments with bored overseas operators who,
apparently, had nothing better to do than to confuse the customers.
But Malone finally managed to get Assistant Commissioner C. E. Teal,
who promised to check on Malone's inquiry at once.

It seemed like years before he called back, and Malone leaped to the
phone.

"Yes?" he said.

Teal, red-faced and apparently masticating a stick of gum, said: "I
got C. I. D. Commander Gideon to follow up on that matter, Mr. Malone.
It is rather late here, as you must realize--"

"Yes?" Malone said. "And they've all gone?"

"Why, no," Teal said, surprised. "A spot check shows that most of the
executives of the London branch of the Psychical Research Society are
spending quiet evenings in their homes. Our Inspector Ottermole
actually spoke to Dr. Carnacki, the head of the office here."

"Oh," Malone said.

"They haven't skipped," Teal went on. "Is this in connection with
anything serious, Mr. Malone?"

"Not