Brubitsch gave a massive shrug. “It was about an X and some numbers,” he said. “It was not very interesting, but it was a formula, and Garbitsch would have liked it. Unfortunately, I did not give it to him.” “Why not?” Boyd said. “I am ashamed,” Brubitsch said, looking ashamed. “I was lighting a cigarette in the afternoon, when I had the formula. It is a very relaxing thing to smoke a cigarette in the afternoon. It is soothing to the soul.” He looked very sad. “I was holding the piece of paper in one hand,” he said. “Unfortunately, the match and the paper came into contact. I burned my finger. Here.” He stuck out a finger toward Malone and Boyd, who looked at it without much interest for a second. “The paper is gone,” he said. “Don’t tell Garbitsch. He is very inflamed.” Malone sighed. “But you remember the formula,” he said. “Don’t you?” Brubitsch shook his massive head very slowly. “It was not very interesting,” he said. “And I do not have a mathematical mind.” “We know,” Malone said. “You are a small child.” “It was terrible,” Brubitsch said. “Garbitsch was not happy about our activities.” “What did Garbitsch do with the information?” Boyd said. “He passed it on,” Brubitsch said. “Every week he would send a short-wave message to the homeland, in code. Some weeks he did not send the message.” “Why not?” Malone said. “The radio did not work,” Brubitsch said simply. “We received orders by short-wave, but sometimes we did not receive the orders. The radio was of very poor quality, and some weeks it refused to send any messages. On other weeks, it refused to receive any messages.” “Who was your contact in Russia?” Boyd said. “A man named X,” Brubitsch said. “Like in the formula.” “But what was his real name?” Malone said. “Who knows?” Brubitsch said. “Does it matter?” “What else did you do?” Boyd said. “We met twice a week,” Brubitsch said. “Sometimes in Garbitsch’s home, sometimes in other places. Sometimes we had information. At other times, we were friends, having a social gathering.” “Friends?” Malone said. Brubitsch nodded. “We drank together, talked, played chess. Garbitsch is the best chess player in the group. I am not very good. But once we had some trouble.” He paused. “We had been drinking Russian liquors. They are very strong. We decided to uphold the honor of our country.” “I think,” Malone murmured sadly, “I know what’s coming.” “Ah?” Brubitsch said, interested. “At any rate, we decided to honor our country in song. And a policeman came and talked to us. He took us down to the police station.” “Why?” Boyd said. “He was suspicious,” Brubitsch said. “We were singing the _Internationale_, and he was suspicious. It is unreasonable.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Boyd said. “What happened then?” “He took us to the police station,” Brubitsch said, “and then after a little while he let us go. I do not understand this.”