ed figuring.

* * * * *

On to page three, he told himself. Drawings again, both on that page and
on the one facing it. Malone recognized an outboard motor, a
store-front, a suit of clothing hanging neatly on a hanger, a motor
scooter, a shotgun and an IBM Electrotyper. Whoever had done the work
was a reasonably accurate artist, if untrained; the various items were
easily recognizable and Malone could see a great deal of detail.

That, of course, was fine. Only it made no more sense than the rest of
the notebook.

Malone riffled through a few more pages, trying to make sense of the
contents. One page seemed to be a shopping list, with nothing more
revealing on it than _bread, bacon, eggs (1/2 doz.), peaches (frz.),
cigs., & ltr., fluid_.

There was another list, farther on. This one said: _Hist. 2, Eng. 4,
Math. 3, Span. 2. What for Elec.?_

That cast the first glow of light. Whoever owned the notebook was a
student. Or a teacher, Malone thought; then, looking back at the
handwriting, he decided that the owner of the notebook had to be in high
school, certainly no farther along.

He went on flipping pages. One of them said, in large black capitals:
=_HE'S BLUFFING!_=

A note passed in class? There was not any way of making sure.

Malone thought about the hypothetical student for a minute. Then
something in the riffling pages caught his eye.

There were two names on the page he'd stopped at.

The first was: _Lt. Peter Lynch, NYPD._ It was followed by two little
squiggles.

The second was: _Mr. Kenneth J. Malone, FBI._

There were no squiggles after his own name, and Malone felt oddly
thankful for that, without knowing exactly why. But what did the names
mean? And who had--

"Uh ... Mr. Malone--" Bill said tentatively. "That _is_ your notebook,
isn't it?"

"Oh," Malone said. He looked up at the cop and put on his most
ingratiating smile. "Sure," he said. "It's mine. Sure it is. Just
checking to see if I'd lost any pages. Not good. Losing pages out of a
notebook. Never. Have to check, you know. Procedure. Very secret."

"Sure," Bill said uncertainly.

Malone took a deep breath. "Thought I'd lost the notebook," he said. "I
appreciate your returning it."

"Oh," Bill said, "that's O.K., Mr. Malone. Glad to do it."

"You don't know what this means to me," Malone said truthfully.

"No trouble at all," Bill said. "Any time." He gave Malone a big smile
and turned back to t