“Glad to hear it,” Malone said. He picked up the receiver of the car phone and waited for the buzz that would show that he was connected with Communications Central in Washington. It didn’t come. “Oh, yes,” the patrolman said suddenly. “I suppose that’s why this Mr. Boyd, he couldn’t call you on the car telephone, Mr. Malone. The message we got, it also says that the fella at the FBI garage in Washington just forgot to plug in that phone there.” “Oh,” Malone said. “Well, thanks for telling me.” “You’re right welcome, Mr. Malone,” the patrolman said “You can plug it in now.” “I intend to,” Malone said through his teeth. He closed his eyes for a long second, and then opened them again. He saw the interested face of the patrolman looking down at him. Hurriedly, he turned away, felt underneath the dashboard until he found the dangling plug, and inserted it into its socket. The buzz now arrived. Malone heaved a great sigh and punched for Boyd’s office. Then he looked around. The patrolman was still standing at the car window. He was looking down at Malone with an interested, slightly blank expression. Malone thought of several things to say, and chose the most harmless. “Thanks a lot,” he told the patrolman. “I appreciate your stopping off to let me know.” “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Malone,” the patrolman said. “That was my orders, to do that. And even if they weren’t, it was no trouble at all. Any time. I’d always be glad to do anything for the FBI.” “Boyd here,” a tinny voice from the phone said. Malone eyed the patrolman sourly. “Malone here,” he said. “What’s the trouble, Tom? I—No, wait a minute.” “Ken!” Boyd’s voice said. “I’ve been trying to—” “Hold it a second,” Malone said. He opened his mouth, and then he saw a car go by. The patrolman hadn’t seen it. Malone felt sorry for the driver, but not too sorry. “Say!” he said to the patrolman. “Yes, sir?” the patrolman said. “That boy was really going, wasn’t he?” Malone said. “He must have been doing at least ninety.” The patrolman jerked his head around to stare at the disappearing car. “Well—” he said, and then: “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Malone. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He raced for his machine, swung aboard and roared down the road, guiding with one hand and manipulating the controls of his radar set with the other. Malone waved him a cheery farewell, and got back to the phone. “Okay, Tom,” he said. “Go ahead.” “Who was that you were talking to?” Boyd asked. “Oh, just a motorcycle patrolman,” Malone said. “He wanted to be helpful, so I told him to go chase a Buick.” “Why a Buick?” Boyd said, interestedly. “Why not?” Malone said. “There happened to be one handy at the time. Now, what’s on your mind?” “I’ve been searching all over hell for you,” Boyd said. “I wish you’d just leave some word where you were going, and then I wouldn’t have to—”