ime, he thought of Boyd. Once, long ago, ages and ages
ago, he had had to wake Boyd up, and he recalled how rough he had been
about it. That had been unforgivable.

He made a mental note to apologize to Boyd the next time he saw him--if
he could ever see again. Now, he knew how Boyd had felt. And it was
terrible.

Still sitting on the bed, he told himself that, in spite of everything,
he was lucky. To judge by his vague memories, he'd had quite a time the
night before, and if the hangover was payment for it, then he was
willing to accept the payment. Almost. Because it had really been a
terrific time. The only nagging thought in his mind was that there had
been something vital he'd forgotten.

"Tickets," he said, aloud, and was surprised that his voice was audible.
As a matter of fact, it was too audible; the noise made him wince
slightly. He shifted his position very quietly.

And he hadn't forgotten the tickets. No. He distinctly remembered going
to see "The Hot Seat," and finding seats, and actually sitting through
the show with Dorothy at his side. He couldn't honestly say that he
remembered much of the show itself, but that couldn't be the important
thing he'd forgotten. By no means.

He had heard that it was a good show, though. Some time, he reminded
himself, he would have to get tickets and actually see it.

He checked through the evening. Drinks. Dinner ... he had had dinner,
hadn't he? Yes, he had. He recalled a broiled sea bass looking up at him
with mournful eyes. He couldn't have dreamed anything like that.

And then the theater, and after that some more drinks ... and so on, and
so on, and so on, right to his arrival back in his hotel room, at
four-thirty in the morning, on a bright, boiled cloud.

He even remembered arguing with Dorothy about taking her home. She'd won
that round by ducking into a subway entrance, and he had turned around
after she'd left him and headed for home. Had he taken a taxi?

[Illustration]

Yes, Malone decided, he had. He even remembered that.

Then what had he forgotten?

He had met Dorothy--he told himself, starting all over again in an
effort to locate the gaps--at six o'clock, right after phoning ...

He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock in the morning. He had
completely forgotten to call Fernack and Lynch.

Hangover or no hangover, Malone told himself grimly, there was work to
be done. Somehow, he managed to get to his feet and start moving.

He chec