ve her number, and he didn't know anything about where she
lived, except that it could be reached by subway. That, Malone told
himself morosely, limited things nicely to the five boroughs of New
York.

And she'd said she was living with her aunt. Would she have a phone
listing under her own name, or would the listing be under her aunt's
name--which he also didn't know?

At any rate, he could check listings under Dorothy Francis, he told
himself.

He did so.

There were lots and lots of people named Dorothy Francis, in Manhattan
and in all the other boroughs.

Malone frowned thoughtfully. _I wish somebody would tell me how to get
in touch with her_, he thought. _She might know more about that book
than I do._

The thought bothered him. But, to offset it, there was a nice new
feeling growing at the back of his mind.

He felt as if he were going to know the answer soon enough.

He felt as if he were going to be lucky again.

In the meantime, he went back to the bar to think some more. He was on
his second bourbon-and-soda, still thinking but without any new ideas,
when BeeBee tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Pardon me," the _maitre d'_ said, "but are you English?"

"Am I what?" Malone said, spilling a little of his drink on the bar.

"Are you English?" BeeBee inquired.

"Oh," Malone said. "No. Irish. Very Irish."

"That's nice," BeeBee said.

Malone stared at him. "I think it's fine," he said, "but I'd love to
know why you asked me."

"Well," BeeBee said, "I knew you couldn't be American. Not after the
phone call. You don't have to hide your nationality here; we're quite
accustomed to foreign visitors. And we don't have special prices for
tourists."

Malone waited two breaths. "Will you please tell me," he said slowly,
"what it is you're talking about?"

"Certainly," BeeBee said with aplomb. "There's a call for you in the
upstairs booth. A long-distance call, personal."

"Oh," Malone said. "Who'd know I was--" He stopped, thinking hard. There
was no way in the world for anyone to know he was in Topp's. Therefore,
nobody could be calling him. "They've got the wrong name," he said
decisively.

"Oh, no," BeeBee said. "I heard them quite distinctly. You _are_ Sir
Kenneth Malone, aren't you?"

* * * * *

Malone gaped for one long second, and then his mind caught up with the
facts. "Oh," he said. "Sure." He raced upstairs to the phone booth,
said: "This is Sir Ken