The girl's brown eyes widened just a trifle. Malone felt as if he could have fallen into them and drowned. "Oh, my," she said. "You must be a detective." And then, like the merest afterthought: "My name's Dorothy." _Dorothy._ It was a beautiful name. It made Malone feel all choked up, inside. He blinked at the girl and tried to look manly and wonderful. It was an effort, but he nearly carried it off. * * * * * After a second or two he realized that she had asked him a question. He didn't want to disillusion her in any way, and, after all, an FBI agent was a kind of detective, but he thought it was only fair that she should know the whole truth about him right from the start. "Not exactly a detective," he said. "Not exactly?" she said, looking puzzled. She looked positively glorious when puzzled, Malone decided at once. "That is," he said carefully, "I do detect, but not for the city of New York." "Oh," she said. "A private eye. Is that right?" "Well," Malone said, "no." She looked even more puzzled. Malone hastened to explain before he got to the point where conversation was impossible. "Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said. After a second he thought of a clarification and added: "FBI." "Oh," the girl said. "_Oh._" "But you can call me Ken," Malone said. "All right--Ken," she said. "And you call me Dorothy." "Sure," he said. He tried it out. "Dorothy." It felt swell. "Well--" she said after a second. "Oh," Malone said. "Were you looking for a detective? Because if I can help in any way--" "Not exactly," Dorothy said. "Just a little routine business. I'll go on in and--" Malone suddenly found himself talking without having any idea why he'd started, or what he was going to say. At first he said: "_Urr_," as if the machine were warming up, and this stopped Dorothy and caused her to give him a rather sharp, baffled stare. Then he found some words and used them hurriedly, before they got away. "Dorothy," he said, "would you like to take in a show this evening? I think I can get tickets to ... well, I guess I could get tickets to almost anything, if I really tried." His expression attempted to leave no doubt that he would really try. Dorothy appeared to consider for a moment. "Well," she said at last, "how about 'The Hot Seat'?" Malone felt just the way he had several years before when he had bluffed his way into a gigantic pot during a Washington poker game, with only a pair of fours to work with. At the last moment, his bluff had been called.