," Malone said. "Did you get 'em?"

"I got 'em," the Agent-in-Charge said sourly. "Had to chase all over
town and pull more wires than there are on a grand piano. But they
turned up, brother. Two seats. Do you know what a job like that
entails?"

"I'm grateful," Malone said. "I'm hysterical with gratitude."

"I'd rather track down a gang of fingerless second-story men than go
through that again," the Agent-in-Charge said. He looked as if his
stomach trouble had suddenly gotten a great deal worse. Malone thought
that the A-in-C was considering calling a doctor, and would probably
decide to make it the undertaker instead, and save the price of a call.

"I can't express my gratitude," Malone told him. "Where are they? Where
do I pick them up?"

"Box office," the A-in-C said sourly. "I tell you, everybody in
Washington must be nuts. The things I have to go through--"

"Thanks," Malone said. "Thanks a lot. Thanks a million. If there's ever
anything I can do for you, let me know and I'll do it." He hung up and
went back to the bar.

"Well?" Dorothy said. "Where do we go tonight? Joe's Hot Dog stand? Or a
revival of 'The Wild Duck' in a loft on Bleecker Street?"

There was pride in Malone's manner as he stood there on his feet. There
was just a touch of hauteur as he said: "We'll see 'Hot Seat'."

And he was repaid for all of the Agent-in-Charge's efforts. Dorothy's
eyes went wide with appreciation and awe. "My goodness," she said. "A
man of his word--and what a tough word, too! Mr. Malone, I congratulate
you."

"Nothing," Malone said. "A mere absolute nothing."

"Nothing, the man says," Dorothy muttered. "My goodness. And modest,
too. Tell me: how do you do, Mr. Malone?"

"Me?" Malone said. "Very well, so far." He finished his drink. "And
you?"

"I work at it," she said cryptically. "May I have another drink?"

Malone gave her a grin. "Another?" he said. "Have two. Have a dozen."

"And what," she said, "would I do with half a dozen drinks? Don't
answer. I think I can guess. But let's just take them one at a
time--O.K.?" She signaled to the bartender. "Wally, I'll have a Martini.
And Mr. Malone will have whatever it is he has, I imagine."

"Bourbon and soda," Malone said, and gave the bartender a grin, too,
just to make sure he didn't feel left out. The sun was shining--although
it was evening outside--and the birds were singing--although, Malone
reflected, catching a bird on Forty-second Street and Broadway