"Very well indeed," Malone said, raising his. "And just call me Ken. Didn't I tell you that once before?" "You did," she said. "And I asked you to call me Dorothy. Not Dotty. Try and remember that." "I will remember it," Malone said, "just as long as ever I live. You don't look the least bit dotty, anyhow. Which is probably more than anybody could say for me." He started to look at himself in the bar mirror again, and decided not to. "By the way," he added, as a sudden thought struck him. "Dotty what?" "Now," she said. "There you go doing it." "Doing what?" "Calling me that name." "Oh," Malone said. "Make it Dorothy. Dorothy what?" He blinked. "I mean, I know you've got a last name. Dorothy Something. Only it probably isn't Something. What is it?" "Francis," she said obligingly. "Dorothy Francis. My middle name is Something, in case you ever want to call me by my middle name. Just yell: 'Hey, Something,' and I'll come a-running. Unless I have something else to do. In which case everything will be very simple: I won't come." "Ah," Malone said doubtfully. "And what do--" "What do I do?" she said. "A standard question. Number two of a series. I do modeling. Photographic modeling. And that's not all--I also do commercials on 3-D. If I look familiar to you, it's probably because you've seen me on 3-D. Do I look familiar to you?" "I never watch 3-D," Malone said, crestfallen. "Fine," Dorothy said unexpectedly. "You have excellent taste." "Well," Malone said, "it's just that I never seem to get the time--" "Don't apologize for it," Dorothy said. "I have to appear on it, but I don't have to like it. And, now that I've answered your questions, how about answering some of mine?" "Gladly," Malone said. "The inmost secrets of the FBI are yours for the asking." "Hm-m-m," Dorothy said slowly. "What do you do as an FBI agent, anyhow? Dig up spies?" "Oh, no," Malone said. "We've got enough trouble with the live ones. We don't go around digging anybody up. Believe me." He paused, feeling dimly that the conversation was beginning to get out of control. "Have I told you that you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met?" he said at last. "No," Dorothy said. "Not yet, anyway. But I was expecting it." "You were?" Malone said, disappointed. "Certainly," Dorothy said. "You've been drinking. As a matter of fact, you've managed to get quite a head start." Malone hung his head guiltily. "True," he said in a low voice. "Too true. Much too true." Dorothy nodded, downed her drink and waved to the bartender. "Wally, bring me a double this time." "A double?" "Sure," Dorothy said. "I've got to do some fast catching-up on Mr. Malone here." "Call me Ken," Malone muttered. "Don't be silly," Dorothy told him. "Wally hardly knows you. He'll call you Mr. Malone, and like it." The bartender went away and Malone sat on his stool and thought busily for a minute. At last he said: "If you really want to catch up with me--" "Yes?" Dorothy said.