The agent-in-charge looked thoughtful. It was obvious that he had been saving his one joke up for several hours. “You might be holding her,” he suggested, “for ransom, of course.” “That’s not funny,” Malone said. “Nothing is funny any more.” “Oh, all right,” the A-in-C said. “You Washington boys are just too good for the rest of us. What’s on your mind?” “You’ve got a twenty-four-hour watch on Luba Garbitsch, haven’t you?” Malone said. “Sure we have,” the A-in-C said. “Boyd said—” “Yes, I know what he said,” Malone cut in. “Give me a check on those men. I want to find out where she is right now. Right this minute.” The agent-in-charge shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “It’s none of my business. Hang on a second.” The screen went blank, but it didn’t go silent. Each of the agents, on a stakeout job like the Garbitsch one, would be carrying personal communicators, and Malone could hear the voice of the agent-in-charge as he spoke to them. He couldn’t make out all the words, and it wasn’t important anyhow. He’d know soon enough, he kept telling himself; just as soon as the A-in-C came back and reported. It seemed like about twelve years before he did. “She’s all right,” he said. “Nothing to worry about; she’s probably working late at her office, that’s all. She hasn’t gone home yet.” “Want to bet?” Malone snapped. “Don’t tempt me,” the A-in-C said. “I wouldn’t take your money—it’s probably counterfeit, printed in Washington.” “I’ll give you ten to one,” Malone said. “Ten to one, I’ll take,” the A-in-C said rapidly. “Ten to one is like taking candy from a traffic cop. I’m no amateur, even if I am stuck away in dull little old New York—and I know the boys I’ve got on stakeout. I’ll check, and—” “Let me know when you do,” Malone said. “I’ve got some long-distance calls to make.” * * * * * Forty-five minutes later, he had all the news he needed. Spot checks on PRS offices on the West Coast, where it wasn’t closing time yet, showed that all the executive officers had suddenly felt the need of extended vacations to parts unknown. That, if not exactly cheering news, was still welcome; Malone had more backing for his theory. An overseas call to New Scotland Yard in London took a little more time, and several arguments with bored overseas operators who, apparently, had nothing better to do than to confuse the customers. But Malone finally managed to get Assistant Commissioner C. E. Teal, who promised to check on Malone’s inquiry at once. It seemed like years before he called back, and Malone leaped to the phone. “Yes?” he said. Teal, red-faced and apparently masticating a stick of gum, said: “I got C. I. D. Commander Gideon to follow up on that matter, Mr. Malone. It is rather late here, as you must realize—” “Yes?” Malone said. “And they’ve all gone?”