Come to think of it, that made pretty good sense. If he had blacked out, then Mike would have seen it as he went groggy, and Mike had just walked out the door. It had to be the door, of course--the windows were out of the question, since there weren't any windows. And six-inch-wide air-conditioner ducts do not provide reasonable space for an exit, not if you happen to be a human being. That, Malone told himself, was settled--and a good thing, too. He had begun to worry about it. But now he knew just what had happened, and he felt relieved. He got up from his chair, walked over to the door and opened it. Lieutenant Lynch nearly fell into the room. He'd obviously had his ear pressed tightly to the door and hadn't expected it to open. The other two cops stood behind him, just about filling the hallway with their broad shoulders. "Well, well," Malone said. Lynch recovered his balance and glared at the FBI agent. He said nothing. "Where is he?" Malone said. "Where is he?" Lynch repeated, and blinked. "Where's _who_?" Malone shook his head impatiently. "Fueyo," he said. Lynch's expression was the same as that on the faces of the other two cops: complete and utter bafflement. Malone stopped and stared. It was suddenly very obvious that the lovely theory he had worked out for Mike's disappearance wasn't true in the least. If Mike Fueyo had come out the door, then these cops would know about it. But they obviously knew nothing at all about it. Therefore, he hadn't come out through the door. Malone took a deep breath. "What are you talking about?" Lynch said. "Isn't the kid in there with you? What's happened?" There was only one thing to do and, straight-faced, Malone went ahead and did it. "Of course not," he snapped, trying to sound impatient and official. "I released him." "You _what_?" "Released him," Malone said. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door of the interrogation room firmly behind him. "I got all the information I needed, so I let him go." "Thanks," Lynch said bitterly. "After all, I was the one who--" "You called him in for questioning, didn't you, lieutenant?" Malone said. "Yes, I did, and I--" "Well," Malone said, "I questioned him." There was a little silence. Then Lynch asked, in a strangled voice: "What did he say?" "Sorry," Malone said at once. "That's classified information." He pushed his way into the corridor, trying to look as if he had fifteen other jobs to accomplish within the next hour. Being an FBI agent was going to help a little, but he still had to look good in order to really carry it off. "But--" "Thanks for your co-operation, lieutenant," Malone said. "You've all been very helpful." He smiled at them in what he hoped was a superior manner. "So long," he said, and started walking. "Wait!" Lynch said. He flung open the door of the interrogation room. There was no doubt that it was empty. "Wait! Malone!"