he said in a calm, patient voice, "was the
message about?"

"Well," the patrolman said, "it seems some fella down in Washington,
fella name of Thomas Boyd, they said it was, wants to talk to you
pretty bad."

"He could have called me on the car phone," Malone said in what he
thought was a reasonable tone of voice. "He didn't have to--"

"There's no call for yelling at me, Mr. Malone," the patrolman said
reproachfully. "I only obeyed my orders, which were to locate your
black 1973 Lincoln and see if you were driving it, and give you a
message. That's all."

"It's enough," Malone muttered. "He didn't have to send out the
militia to round me up."

"Oh, no, Mr. Malone," the patrolman said. "Not the militia. Highway
Patrol. We don't rightly have any connection with the militia at all."

"Glad to hear it," Malone said. He picked up the receiver of the car
phone and waited for the buzz that would show that he was connected
with Communications Central in Washington.

It didn't come.

"Oh, yes," the patrolman said suddenly. "I suppose that's why this Mr.
Boyd, he couldn't call you on the car telephone, Mr. Malone. The
message we got, it also says that the fella at the FBI garage in
Washington just forgot to plug in that phone there."

"Oh," Malone said. "Well, thanks for telling me."

"You're right welcome, Mr. Malone," the patrolman said "You can plug
it in now."

"I intend to," Malone said through his teeth. He closed his eyes for a
long second, and then opened them again. He saw the interested face of
the patrolman looking down at him. Hurriedly, he turned away, felt
underneath the dashboard until he found the dangling plug, and
inserted it into its socket.

The buzz now arrived.

Malone heaved a great sigh and punched for Boyd's office. Then he
looked around.

The patrolman was still standing at the car window. He was looking
down at Malone with an interested, slightly blank expression.

Malone thought of several things to say, and chose the most harmless.
"Thanks a lot," he told the patrolman. "I appreciate your stopping off
to let me know."

"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Malone," the patrolman said. "That was my
orders, to do that. And even if they weren't, it was no trouble at
all. Any time. I'd always be glad to do anything for the FBI."

"Boyd here," a tinny voice from the phone said.

Malone eyed the patrolman sourly. "Malone here," he said. "What's the
trouble, Tom? I--No, wait a minute."

"Ke