ked Boyd's room after a while. But his partner wasn't home.
_Probably at work already_, Malone thought, _while I lie here useless
and helpless_. He thought of a sermon on the Evils of Alcohol, and
decided he'd better read it to himself instead of delivering it to Boyd.

But he didn't waste any time with it. By ten-fifteen he was showered and
shaved, his teeth were brushed, and he was dressed. He felt, he
estimated, about fifteen hundred per cent better. That was still lousy,
but it wasn't quite as bad as it had been. He could move around and talk
and even think a little, if he were careful about it. Before he left, he
took a look at himself in the mirror.

Well, he told himself, that was nice.

It hardly showed at all. He looked tired, to be sure, but that was
almost normal. The eyes weren't bloodshot red, and didn't seem to bug
out at all although Malone would have sworn that they were bleeding all
over his face. His head was its normal size, as near as he remembered;
it was not swollen visibly, or pulsing like a jellyfish at every move.

He looked even better than he felt.

He started for the door, and then stopped himself. There was no need to
go out so early; he could start work right in his own hotel room and not
even have to worry about the streets of New York, the cars or the
pedestrians for a while.

He thought wistfully about a hair of the hound, decided against it with
great firmness, and sat down to phone.

He dialed a number, and the face of Commissioner Fernack appeared almost
at once. Malone forced himself to smile cheerfully, reasonably sure that
he was going to crack something as he did it. "Hello, John Henry," he
said in what he hoped was a good imitation of a happy, carefree voice.
"And how are you this lovely morning?"

"Me?" Fernack said sourly. "I'm in great shape. Tiptop. Malone, how did
you--"

"Any news for me?" Malone said.

Fernack waited a long time before he answered, and when he did his voice
was dangerously soft and calm. "Malone," he said, "when you asked for
this survey, just what kind of news did you expect to get anyway?"

"An awful lot of impossible crimes," Malone said frankly. "How did I do,
John Henry?"

"You did very well," Fernack said. "Too well. Listen, Malone, how could
you know about anything like this?"

Malone blinked. "Well," he said, "we have our sources. Confidential. Top
secret. I'm sure you understand, commissioner." Hurriedly, he added:
"What does the b