“Aphrodisiacs,” Malone suggested diplomatically. “Thank you, no,” Boyd said politely. “I never indulge while on duty.” “Thomas,” Malone said, “you are a Rover Boy First-Class.” “Good,” Boyd said. “But, meanwhile, who is doing all this? Would you prefer Evil Beings from the Planet Ploor?” “I would not,” Malone said firmly. “But I have a strange feeling,” Boyd said, “that, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, you do not hold with the Interplanetary Alien Theory.” “Frankly,” Malone said, “I’m not sure of anything. Not really. But I do want to know why, if it’s interplanetary aliens doing this stuff, they’re picking such a strange way of going about it.” “Strange?” Boyd said. “What’s strange about it? You wouldn’t expect Things from Ploor to come right out and _tell_ us what they want, would you? It’s against custom. It may even be against the law.” “Well, maybe,” Malone said. “But it is pretty strange. The difference between what’s happening in Russia and what’s happening here—” “What difference?” Boyd said. “Everybody’s confused. Here, and over there. It all looks the same to me.” “Well, it isn’t,” Malone said. “Take a look at the paper, for instance.” He tossed the _Post_ at Boyd, who caught it with a spasmodic clutching motion and reassembled it slowly. “Why throw things?” Boyd said. “You sore or something?” “I guess I am,” Malone said. “But not at you. It’s—somebody or something. Person or persons unknown.” “Or Ploorians,” Boyd said. “Whatever,” Malone said. “But take a look at the paper and see if you see what I see.” He paused. “Does that mean anything?” he said. “Probably,” Boyd said. “We’ll figure it out later.” He leafed through the newspaper slowly, pulling thoughtfully at his beard from time to time. Malone watched him in breathless silence. “See it?” he said at last. Boyd looked up and, very slowly, nodded. “You’re right, Ken,” he said in a quiet voice. “You’re absolutely right. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.” “And that,” Malone said, “sounds like an insult. It’s much plainer than that. Suppose you tell me.” Boyd considered. “Over here,” he said at last, “there are a lot of confused jerks and idiots. Right?” “Correct,” Malone said. “And in Russia,” Boyd went on, “there’s a lot of confusion. Right?” “Sure,” Boyd said. “It’s perfectly clear. I wonder why I didn’t see it before.” “That’s it!” Malone cried. “That’s the difference!” “Sure,” Boyd said. “It’s perfectly clear. I wonder why I didn’t see it before.” “Because you weren’t looking for it,” Malone said. “Because nobody was. But there’s one more check I want to make. There’s one area I’m not sure of, simply because I don’t have enough to go on.” “What area is that?” Boyd said. “It seems to me we did a pretty good job—” “The Mafia,” Malone said. “We know they’re having trouble, but—” “But we don’t know what kind of trouble,” Boyd finished. “Right you are.” Malone nodded. “I want to talk to Manelli,” he said. “Can we set it up?”