He blundered back into the same big room again, on his way through the corridors. The bulbous-eyed woman, who seemed to have inherited a full set of thirty-two teeth from each of her parents, gave him a friendly if somewhat crowded smile, but Malone pressed on without a word. After awhile, he found the reception room again. The girl behind the desk looked up. “How did he react?” she said. Malone blinked. “React?” he said. “When you sneezed at him,” she said. “Because I’ve been thinking it over, and I’ve got a new theory. You’re doing a survey on how people act when encountering sneezes. Like Kinsey.” This girl—Lou something, Malone thought, and with difficulty refrained from adding “Gehrig”—had an unusual effect, he decided. He wondered if there were anyone in the world she couldn’t reduce to paralyzed silence. “Of course,” she went on, “Kinsey was dealing with sex, and you aren’t. At least, you aren’t during business hours.” She smiled politely at Malone. “No,” he said helplessly, “I’m not.” “It is sneezing, then,” she said. “Will I be in the book when it’s published?” “Book?” Malone said, feeling more and more like a rather low-grade moron. “The book on sneezing, when you get it published,” she said. “I can see it now: _The Case of Miss X, a Receptionist_.” “There isn’t going to be any book,” Malone said. She shook her head. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be a Miss X. It sounds exciting.” “X,” Malone said at random, “marks the spot.” “Why, that’s the sweetest thing that’s been said to me all day,” the girl said. “I thought you could hardly talk, and here you come out with lovely things like that. But I’ll bet you say it to all the girls.” “I have never said it to anybody before,” Malone said flatly. “And I never will again.” The girl sighed. “I’ll treasure it,” she said. “My one great moment. Goodbye, Mr.—Malone, isn’t it?” “Ken,” Malone said. “Just call me Ken.” “And I’m Lou,” the girl said. “Goodbye.” An elevator arrived and Malone ducked into it. Louie? he thought. Louise? Luke? Of course, there was Sir Lewis Carter, who might be called Lou. Was he related to the girl? No, Malone thought wildly. Relations went by last names. There was no reason for Lou to be related to Sir Lewis. They didn’t even look alike. For instance, he had no desire whatever to make a date with Sir Lewis Carter, or to take him to a glittering night-club, or to make him any whispered propositions. And the very idea of Sir Lewis Carter sitting on the Malone lap was enough to give him indigestion and spots before the eyes. Sternly, he told himself to get back to business. The elevator stopped at the lobby and he got out and started down the street, feeling that consideration of the lady known as Lou was much more pleasant. After all, what did he have to work with, as far as his job was concerned?