“Well,” Malone said at random, “I didn’t think to leave them a farewell note. I hope they don’t think I disliked their company.” “Officially,” the doctor said, lifting Lou’s left eyelid and gazing thoughtfully into the blue iris thus exposed, “they’re afraid you’re lost, and they were apologetic as all hell about it to the ambassador.” The iris appeared to lose its fascination; the doctor dropped the eyelid and fished in his black bag, which he had put on the seat next to Lou. “And unofficially?” Malone asked. “Unofficially,” the doctor said, “we’ve got news of a riot at _Trotkin’s_ tonight, in which you seem to have been involved. Mr. Malone, you must be quite a barroom brawler when you’re at home.” “Frankly,” Malone said, “I’m a little out of practice. And I hope I never have the chance to get back _into_ practice.” The doctor nodded, removing a stethoscope from the bag and applying it to Lou’s chest. He waited a second, frowned and then took the plugs out of his ears. “I know just what you mean,” he said. “You might be interested to know the first unofficial score of that little match.” “Score?” Malone said. The doctor nodded again. “Three concussions,” he said, “one possible skull fracture, a broken arm, two bitten hands, and a large and varied assortment of dental difficulties and plain hysteria. No dead, however. I really don’t understand why not.” “Well,” Malone said, “nobody wanted to create an international incident.” “Hmf,” the doctor said. “I see. Or I think I do, which is as far as I care to go in the matter. The Russians suspect, by the way, that you’ve managed to get aboard the plane. They do know, of course, about the girl, and when the pilot called for me they put two and two together. In spite of his story about being sick. What they can’t figure out is how you managed to _get_ aboard the plane.” “Neither can I,” Malone said at random. The doctor gave him a single bright stare. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose you know your own business best. By the way, my examination accords pretty well with our unofficial information about the girl—that she was given some sort of drug in a drink. Is that what happened?” Malone nodded. “As far as we know,” he said. “She did get rid of a lot of it within a few minutes, though.” “Good,” the doctor said. “Very sensible.” “Sense had nothing to do with it,” Malone said. “In any case,” the doctor went on doggedly, “there can’t be too much left in her system. Her pulse is good, she’s breathing easily and there don’t seem to be any complications, so I should doubt strongly that there’s been much damage done. Besides all which, of course, the Russians would hardly have wanted to hurt her; what they gave her would probably have done little more harm even if she’d ingested it all, and kept it down.” “Good,” Malone said sincerely. “I’ll give you some pills,” the doctor said, fishing in his bag again, “and you can give them to her when she wakes up.”