"It sure is quite a story," Boyd said. "And I don't want you to think I don't believe it. Because I don't." "It's true," Malone said. "That doesn't affect me," Boyd said. "I'll go along with the gag. But enough is enough. Vanishing teen-agers. Ridiculous." "Just so you go along with me," Malone said. "Oh, I'll go along," Boyd said. "This is my vacation, too, isn't it? What's the next move, Mastermind?" "We're going down to that warehouse," Malone said decisively. "I've got a hunch the kids have been hiding there ever since they left their homes yesterday." "Malone," Boyd said. "What?" "You mean we're going down to the warehouse _tonight_?" Boyd said. Malone nodded. "I might have known," Boyd said. "I might have known." "Tom," Malone said. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing," Boyd said. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine and dandy. I think I'm going to commit suicide, but don't let that bother you." "What happened?" Malone said. Boyd stared at him. "You happened," he said. "You and the teen-agers and the warehouse happened. Three days' work--ruined." Malone scratched his head, found out that his head still hurt and put his hand down again. "What work?" he said. "For three days," Boyd said, "I've been taking this blond chick all over New York. Wining her. Dining her. Spending money as if I were Burris himself, instead of the common or garden variety of FBI agent. Night clubs. Theaters. Bars. The works. Malone, we were getting along famously. It was wonderful." "And tonight--" Malone said. "Tonight," Boyd said, "was supposed to be the night. The big night. The payoff. We've got a date for dinner--T-bone steak, two inches thick, with mushrooms. At her apartment, Malone." "You'll have to break it," Malone said sympathetically. "Too bad, but it can't be helped now. You can pick up a sandwich before you go." "A sandwich," Boyd said with great dignity, "is not my idea of something to eat." "Look, Tom--" Malone began. "All right, all right," Boyd said tiredly. "Duty is duty. I'll go call her." "Fine," Malone said. "And meanwhile, I'll get us a little insurance." "Insurance?" "John Henry Fernack," Malone Malone said, "and his Safe and Loft Squad." XIV. The warehouse was locked up tight, all right, Malone thought. In the dim light that surrounded the neighborhood, it stood like a single stone block, alone near the waterfront. There were other buildings nearby, but they seemed smaller; the warehouse loomed over Malone and Boyd threateningly. They stood in a shadow-blacked alley just across the street, watching the big building nervously, studying it for weak points and escape areas. [Illustration] Boyd whispered softly: "Do you think they have a lookout?" Malone's voice was equally low. "We'll have to assume they've got at least one kid posted," he said. "But they can't be watching all the time. Remember, they can't do everything."