r were. Even before I
caught them."

"Then why," Burris said with great patience, "did you arrest them?"

"Because they're spies," Malone said. "Besides, I didn't."

"Didn't what?" Burris said, looking confused. He seemed to realize he
was still holding up his hand, and dropped it to the desk. Malone felt
sad as he watched it go. Now he had nothing to concentrate on except
the conversation, and he didn't even want to think about what was
happening to that.

"Didn't arrest them," he said. "Tom Boyd did."

"Acting," Burris pointed out gently, "under your orders, Kenneth."

It was the second time Burris had called him Kenneth, Malone realized.
It started a small warning bell in the back of his mind. When Burris
called him by his first name, Burris was feeling paternal and kindly.
And that, Malone thought determinedly, boded Kenneth J. Malone very
little good indeed.

"He was under my orders to arrest them because they were spies," he
said at last. He wondered if the sentence made any real sense, but
shrugged his shoulders and plunged on. "But they're not the real
spies," he said. "Not the ones everybody's been looking for."

"Kenneth," Burris said, his voice positively dripping with what Malone
thought of as the heavy, Grade A, Government-inspected cream of human
kindness, "all the confusion with the computer-secretaries has
stopped. Everything is running fine in that department."

"But--" Malone began.

"The technicians," Burris said, hypnotized by this poem of beauty,
"aren't making any more mistakes. The information is flowing through
beautifully. It's a pleasure to see their reports. Believe me,
Kenneth--"

"Call me Chief," Malone said wearily.

Burris blinked. "What?" he said. "Oh. Ha. Indeed. Very well, then:
Malone, what more proof do you want?"

"Is that proof?" Malone said. "The spies didn't even confess to that.
They--"

"Of course they didn't, Malone," Burris said.

"Of course?" Malone said weakly.

"Look at their confessions," Burris said. "Just look at them, in black
and white." He reached for a sheaf of papers and pushed them across
the desk. Malone looked at them. They were indeed, he told himself, in
black and white. There was no arguing with that. None at all.

* * * * *

"Well?" Burris said after a second.

"I don't see anything about computer-secretaries," Malone said.

"The Russians," Burris began slowly, "are not stupid, Malone. You
believe that