There was no immediate answer from the other party. Instead, the screen slowly cleared, showing Malone the picture of a woman he recognized instantly. It was Juanita Fueyo--Mike's mother. Malone stared at her. It seemed to him as if a couple of hours passed while he tried to find his voice. Of course, she'd looked up the FBI number in the phone book, and found him that way. But she was about the last person on Earth from whom he'd expected a call. "Oh, Mr. Malone," she said, "thank you so much! You got my Mike back from the police!" Malone gulped. "I did?" he said. "Well, I--" "But Mr. Malone--you must help me again! Because now my Mike says he must not stay at home! He is leaving, he is leaving right away!" "Leaving?" Malone said. He thought of a thousand things to do. He could send a squad of men to arrest Mike. And Mike could disappear while they were trying to get hold of him. He could go down himself--and be greeted, if he knew Mike Fueyo, with another giant economy-size raspberry. He could try to plead with Mike on the phone. And what good would that do? So, instead, he just sat and stared while Mrs. Fueyo went right on. "He says he will send me money, but money is nothing compared to my own boy, my own Mike. He says he must go away, Mr. Malone--but I know you can stop him! I know it!" "Sure," Malone said. "But I--" "Oh, I knew that you would!" Mrs. Fueyo shrieked. She almost came through the screen at him. "You are a great man, Mr. Malone! I will say many prayers for you! I will never stop from praying for you because you help me!" Her voice and face changed abruptly. "Excuse me now," she said. "I must go back to work." "Well," Malone said, "if I--" Then she turned back and beamed at him again. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Malone! Thank you with the thanks of a mother! Bring my boy back to me!" And the image faded and died. Boyd tapped Malone on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were involved in an advice column for the lovelorn," he said. "I'm not," Malone said sourly. Boyd sighed. "I'll bite," he said. "Who was that?" Malone thought of several possible answers and finally chose one. "That," he said, "was my mother-in-law. She worries about me every time I go out on a job with you." "Very funny," Boyd said. "I am screaming with laughter." "Just get back to work, Tommy-boy," Malone said, "and leave everything to me." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Lighting a cigarette--and wishing he were alone in his own room, so that he could smoke a cigar and not have to worry about looking dashing and alert--Malone strolled out of the office with a final wave to Boyd. He was thinking about Mike Fueyo, and he stopped his chain of reasoning just long enough to look in at the office of the Agent-in-Charge and ask him to pry loose two tickets for "The Hot Seat" that night.