m the
cash register, and all of the liquor is gone too."

Malone stared. "_All_ the liquor?" he said in a dazed voice.

"Well," Fernack said, "all of it that's in plain sight, anyway. Except
for the open bottles. Disappeared. Gone. Without a trace. And most of
the time the extra stock's gone too, from the basement or wherever
they happen to keep it."

"That's a lot of liquor," Malone said.

"A hell of a lot," Fernack said. "Some of the bars have gone broke,
not being insured against the losses."

The thought of thousands of bottles of liquor--millions of
bottles--went through Malone's mind like an ice pick. He could almost
see them, handle them, taste them. "Hair of the dog," he muttered.
"What hair. What a dog."

"What did you say, Malone?"

"Nothing," Malone said hastily. "Nothing at all." After a second
another query occurred to him. "You mean to tell me that only bars
were robbed? Nothing else?"

"Oh, no," Fernack said. "Bars are only part of it. Malone, why are you
asking me to tell you this?"

"Because I want to know," Malone said patiently.

"I still think--" Fernack began, and then said, "Never mind.. But it
hasn't been only bars. Supermarkets. Homes. Cleaning and tailoring
shops. Jewelers. Hell, Malone, you name it and it's been hit."

Malone tried valiantly to resist temptation, but he was not at his
best, and he lost. "All right," he said. "I will name it. Here's a
list of places that haven't even been touched by the rising crime
wave. Banks, for one."

"Malone!"

"Safes that have been locked, for another," Malone went on. "Homes
with wall safes, though that's not quite accurate. The homes may have
been robbed, but the safes won't have been touched."

"Malone, how much do you know?" Fernack said. "My God, man--"

"I'll make a general rule for you," Malone said. "Any place that fits
the following description is safe: it's got a secure lock on it, and
it's too small for a human being to get into."

Fernack opened his mouth, shut it, and stared downward, obviously
scanning some papers lying on the desk in front of him. Malone waited
patiently for the explosion, but it never came.

Instead, Fernack said, "You know, Malone, you remind me of an old
friend of mine."

"Really?" Malone said pleasantly.

"You certainly do," Fernack said. "There's just one small difference.
You're an FBI man, and he's a crook. If that's a difference."

"It is," Malone said. "And on behalf of the FBI, I resent