e. Thank you with the thanks of a mother. Bring my boy back to
me."

And the image faded and died.

Boyd tapped Malone on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were involved
in an advice column for the lovelorn," he said.

"I'm not," Malone said sourly.

Boyd sighed. "I'll bite," he said. "Who was that?"

Malone thought of several possible answers and finally chose one.
"That," he said, "was my mother-in-law. She worries about me every
time I go out on a job with you."

"Very funny," Boyd said. "I am screaming with laughter."

"Just get back to work, Tommy-boy," Malone said, "and leave everything
to me."

He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Lighting a
cigarette--and wishing he were alone in his own room, so that he could
smoke a cigar and not have to worry about looking dashing and
alert--Malone strolled out of the office with a final wave to Boyd. He
was thinking about Mike Fueyo, and he stopped his chain of reasoning
just long enough to look in at the office of the Agent-in-Charge, and
ask him to pry loose two tickets for _The Hot Seat_ for that night.

"My God," the agent said. He was a tall thin man who looked as if he
suffered from chronic stomach trouble. "You must be crazy. Are they
all like that in Washington?"

"No," Malone said cheerfully. "Some of them are pretty normal. There's
this one man--Napoleon, we call him--who keeps insisting that he
should have won the battle of Waterloo. But otherwise he's perfectly
fine."

He flicked his cigarette in the air and left, grinning. Five steps
away the grin disappeared and a frown took its place.

6

He walked along 69th Street to Park Avenue without noticing where he
was going. Luckily, the streets weren't really crowded, and Malone
only had to apologize twice, once for stepping on a man's toe and once
for absently toeing a woman's dog. When he reached the corner he
headed downtown, humming _Kathleen Mavourneen_ under his breath and
trying to figure out his next move.

He needed more than one move. He needed a whole series of moves. This
was not the usual kind of case. Burris had called it a vacation and,
in one way, Malone supposed, Burris was perfectly right. For once
there was no question about who had committed the crimes. It was
obvious by now that Mike Fueyo and his Silent Spooks had been stealing
the Cadillacs.

It was even obvious that Mike--or someone with Mike's talent--had
bopped him on the he