e hung up the phone
and turned to watch Malone warily.

"Sir Lewis," she said, "will see you. I couldn't say why. But take the
side corridor to the rear of the suite. His office has his name on it,
and I won't tell you you can't miss it because I have every faith that
you will. Good luck."

Malone blinked. "Look," he said. "I know I startled you, but I didn't
mean to. I--" He started to sneeze, but this time he got his own
handkerchief out in time and muffled the explosion slightly.

"Good work," the girl said approvingly.

* * * * *

There was nothing at all to say to that remark, Malone reflected as he
wended his way down the side corridor. It seemed endless, and kept
branching off unexpectedly. Once he blundered into a large open room
filled with people at desks. A woman who seemed to have a great many
teeth and rather bulbous eyes looked up at him. "Can I help you?" she
said in a fervent whine.

"I sincerely hope not," Malone said, backing away and managing to find
the corridor once more. After what seemed like a long time, and two
more sneezes, he found a small door which was labeled in capital
letters:

THE PSYCHICAL RESEARCH
SOCIETY
SIR LEWIS CARTER
PRESIDENT

Malone sighed. "Well," he muttered, "they certainly aren't hiding
anything." He pushed at the door, and it swung open.

Sir Lewis was a tall, solidly-built man with a kindly expression. He
wore gray flannel trousers and a brown tweed jacket, which made an
interesting color contrast with his iron-gray hair. His teeth were
clenched so firmly on the bit of a calabash pipe with a meerschaum
bowl that Malone wondered if he could ever get loose. Malone shut the
door behind him, and Sir Lewis rose and extended a hand.

Malone went to the desk and reached across to take the hand. It was
firm and dry. "I'm Kenneth Malone," Malone said.

"Ah, yes," Sir Lewis said. "Pleased to meet you; always happy, of
course, to do whatever I can for your FBI. Not only a duty, so to
speak, but a pleasure. Sit down. Please do sit down."

Malone found a chair at the side of the desk, and sank into it. It was
soft and comfortable. It provided such a contrast to O'Connor's
furnishings that Malone began to wish it was Sir Lewis who was
employed at Yucca Flats. Then he could tell Sir Lewis everything about
the case.

Now, of course, he could only hedge and try to make do