The girl had jumped, too, but her leap had been straight upward, about an inch and a half. She came down on her chair and reached up a hand. The hand wiped the back of her neck with a slow, lingering motion of complete loathing. Then, equally slowly, she turned. “That,” she said in a low, sweet voice, “was a hell of a dirty trick.” “It was an accident,” Malone said. “The Will of God.” “God has an exceedingly nasty mind,” the girl said. “Something, by the way, which I have often suspected.” She regarded Malone darkly. “Do you always do that to strangers? Is it some new sort of perversion?” “I have never done such a thing before,” Malone said sternly. “Oh,” the girl said. “An experimenter. Avid for new sensations. Probably a jaded scion of a rich New York family.” She paused. “Tell me,” she said, “is it fun?” Malone opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shut it, thought for a second and then tried again. He got as far as: “I—” before Nemesis overtook him. The second sneeze was even louder and more powerful than the first had been. “It must be fun,” the girl said acidly, producing a handkerchief from somewhere and going to work on her face. “You just can’t seem to wait to do it again. Would it do any good to tell you that the fascination with this form of greeting is not universal? Or don’t you care?” “Damn it,” Malone said, goaded, “I’ve got a cold.” “And you feel you should share it with the world,” the girl said. “I quite understand. Tell me, is there anything I can do for you? Or has your mission been accomplished?” “My mission?” Malone said. “Having sneezed twice at me,” the girl said, “do you feel satisfied? Will you vanish softly and silently away? Or do you want to sneeze at somebody else?” “I want the president of the Society,” Malone said. “According to my information, his name is Sir Lewis Carter.” “And if you sneeze at him,” the girl said, “yours is going to be mud. He isn’t much on novelty.” “I—” “Besides which,” she said, “he’s extremely busy. And I don’t think he’ll see you at all. Why don’t you go and sneeze at somebody else? There must be lots of people who would consider themselves honored to be noticed, especially in such a startling way. Why don’t you try and find one somewhere? Somewhere very far away.” Malone was beyond speech. He fumbled for his wallet, flipped it open and showed the girl his identification. “My, my,” she said. “And hasn’t the FBI anything better to do? I mean, can’t you go and sneeze at counterfeiters in their lairs, or wherever they might be?” “I want to see Sir Lewis Carter,” Malone said doggedly. The girl shrugged and picked up the phone on the desk. It was a blank-vision device, of course; many office intercoms were. She dialed, waited and then said, “Sir Lewis, please.” Another second went by. Then she spoke again. “Sir Lewis,” she said, “this is Lou, at the front desk. There’s a man here named Malone, who wants to see you.”