I got the
first shipment right where I can put my finger on it?"

"So?" Malone said.

"So I can't get rid of it," Sand said. "What do I want with a new
load? Every day I hold the stuff is dangerous. You never know when
somebody's going to look for it and maybe find it."

"Can't get rid of it?" Malone said. This was a new turn of events.
"What's happening?"

"Everything," Sand said tersely. "Look, you want to sell me some
information--but you don't know the setup. Maybe when I tell you,
you'll stop bothering me." He put his head in his hands, and his
voice, when he spoke again, was muffled. "The contacts are gone," he
said. "With the arrests and the resignations and everything else,
nobody wants to take any chances; the few guys that aren't locked up
are scared they will be. I can't make any kind of a deal for anything.
There just isn't any action."

"Things are tough, huh?" Malone said hopelessly. Apparently even Mike
Sand wasn't going to pan out for him.

"Things are terrible," Sand said. "The locals are having
revolutions--guys there are kicking out the men from National
Headquarters. Nobody knows where he stands any more--a lot of my
organizers have been goofing up and getting arrested for one thing and
another. Like apes in the trees, that's what."

Malone nodded very slowly and took another puff of the cigarette.
"Nothing's going right," he said.

"Listen," Sand said. "You want to hear trouble? My account books are
in duplicate--you know? Just to keep things nice and peaceful and
quiet."

"One for the investigators and one for the money," Malone said.

"Sure," Sand said, preoccupied with trouble. "You know the setup. But
both sets are missing. Both sets." He raised his head, the picture of
witless agony. "I've got an idea where they are, too. I'm just waiting
for the axe to fall."

"O.K.," Malone said. "Where are they?"

"The U. S. Attorney's Office," Sand said dismally. He stared down at
his battered desk and sighed.

Malone stubbed out his cigarette. "So you're not in the market for any
more buttons?" he said.

"All I'm in the market for," Sand said without raising his eyes, "is
a nice, painless way to commit suicide."

* * * * *

Malone walked several blocks without noticing where he was going. He
tried to think things over, and everything seemed to fall into a
pattern that remained, agonizingly, just an inch or so out of his
mental reach. The mental bursts,