Malone wondered briefly whether or not they'd turned off the air-conditioning. If he moved slightly away from Luba, he thought, he could breathe more easily. But breathing just wasn't worth it. "I will cheerfully admit," he said, "that I am a ball of fire in the feathers, as they say. But I didn't realize it was that obvious--even to a woman of your tender sensitivity." Somehow, Luba had managed to get even closer to him. "You touch me deeply," she whispered into his ear. Malone swallowed hard and tried to take another breath. Just one more, he thought; that would be all he needed. "What are you doing in Las Vegas?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone. It didn't sound very casual, though. "I'm on vacation," Luba said in an off-handed manner. "I won't ask what you're doing; I can guess pretty well. Besides, you obviously want to keep it under cover." "Well," Malone said, "I certainly wouldn't want what I'm doing to be broadcast aloud to the great American public out there in television-land." It was a long speech for a man without any breath. Just one more, Malone told himself, and he could die happy. "I felt that," Luba said. "You know, Mr. Malone--" "Call me Ken," Malone said. "It is silly to be formal now, isn't it?" Luba said. "You know, Ken, I'm beginning to realize that you are really a very nice person--in spite of your rather surprising method of attack." "What's surprising about it?" Malone said. "People do it all the time." * * * * * The orchestra suddenly shifted from the previous slow number to a rapid fire tune Malone couldn't remember having heard before. "That," he announced, "is too fast for me. I'm going to get some fresh air." Luba nodded, her red hair brushing Malone's cheek silkily. "I'm coming, too," she said. Surrounding the Great Universal, Malone remembered, was a small belt of parkland. He flagged a hallway car--remembering carefully to check whether or not the driver was the sniggering Murray--and he and Luba piled in and started out for the park. In the car, he held her hand silently, feeling a little like a bashful schoolboy and a little like Sir Kenneth Malone. It was a strange mixture, but he decided that he liked it. They got out, standing in the cool darkness of the park. Overhead a moon and stars were shining. The little hallway car rolled away and they were alone. Completely alone. Malone swallowed hard. "Sleuth," Luba said softly in the darkness. Malone turned to face her. "Sleuth," she said, "don't you ever take a chance?" "Chance?" Malone said. "Damn it," Luba said in a soft, sweet voice, "kiss me, Ken." Malone had no answer to that--at least, no verbal answer. But then, one didn't seem to be needed. When he finally came up for air, he said: "Lou--" "Yes, Ken?" "Lou, how long are you going to be here? Or in New York? What I mean is--"