"Don't think about it," Malone said. To him, the job had been an unpleasant occurrence, but a job, that was all. He could see, though, how it might affect people who were new to it. "You're so brave," she said. Malone tightened his arm around the girl's shoulder. "Just depend on me," he said. "You'll be all right if you--" The State Trooper walked up then, and looked at them. "Mr. Malone?" he said. He seemed to be taken slightly aback at the costuming. "That's right," Malone said. He pulled out his ID card and the little golden badge. The State Patrolman looked at them, and looked back at Malone. "What's with the getup?" he said. "FBI," Malone said, hoping his voice carried conviction. "Official business." "In costume?" "Never mind about the details," Malone snapped. "He's an FBI agent, sir," Barbara said. "And what are you?" the Patrolman said. "Lady Jane Grey?" "I'm a nurse," Barbara said. "A psychiatric nurse." "For nuts?" "For disturbed patients." The Patrolman thought that over. "Hell, you've got the identity cards and stuff," he said at last. "Maybe you've got a reason to dress up. How would I know? I'm only a State Patrolman." "Let's cut the monologue," Malone said savagely, "and get to business." The Patrolman stared. Then he said: "All right, sir. Yes, sir. I'm Lieutenant Adams, Mr. Malone. Suppose you tell me what happened?" Carefully and concisely, Malone told him the story of the Buick that had pulled up beside them, and what happened afterward. Meanwhile, the other cops had been looking over the wreck. When Malone had finished his story, Lieutenant Adams flipped his notebook shut and looked over toward them. "I guess it's okay, sir," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, it's justifiable homicide. Self-defense. Any reason why they'd want to kill you?" Malone thought about the Golden Palace. That might be a reason--but it might not. And why burden an innocent State Patrolman with the facts of FBI life? "Official," he said. "Your chief will get the report." The Patrolman nodded. "I'll have to take a deposition tomorrow, but--" "I know," Malone said. "Thanks. Can we go on to our hotel now?" "I guess," the Patrolman said. "Go ahead. We'll take care of the rest of this. You'll be getting a call later." "Fine," Malone said. "Trace those hoods, and any connections they might have had. Get the information to me as soon as possible." Lieutenant Adams nodded. "You won't have to leave the state, will you?" he asked. "I don't mean that you _can't_, exactly--hell, you're FBI. But it'd be easier--" "Call Burris in Washington," Malone said. "He can get hold of me--and if the Governor wants to know where we are, or the State's Attorney, put them in touch with Burris too. Okay?" "Okay," Lieutenant Adams said. "Sure." He blinked at Malone. "Listen," he said. "About those costumes--" "We're trying to catch Henry VIII for the murder of Anne Boleyn," Malone said with a polite smile. "Okay?"