appreciate it much longer. You've got to get those boys!" He bounced off
the desk and stood up again. "The longer they keep this up," he said,
"the harder it's going to be to square everything with the courts. Those
kids may end up getting killed! And how would that be?"

"Terrible," Malone said honestly.

"Something," Burris summed up, "has to be done."

Malone thought for a second. "Chief," he said at last, "if you can think
of any way to nab them, I'll certainly be grateful."

"Oh," Burris said. "Oh. No. No, Malone. This is your baby." He leaned
over and clapped Malone on the shoulder. "I have faith in you," he said.
"You cleared up that nutty telepath case and you can clear this one up,
too. But you've got to do it soon!"

"I'm working on it," Malone said helplessly. "We might get a lead any
time now."

"Good," Burris said. "Meanwhile, let's sit down and see if we can't
figure out a way to pacify the local bigwigs."

Malone sighed wearily.

* * * * *

An hour later, he was even more tired. Letting himself into his room at
the hotel, he felt completely exhausted. He had spent most of the hour
tactfully trying to get away from Burris. It had not been the world's
easiest job.

Dorothea Fueyo was sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

Immediately, he felt much better.

"You're late," Dorothea said accusingly. "I had to come up with the
duplicate key you gave me. And what are the bellboys going to think?"

"They're going to think you had a duplicate key," Malone said. "Anyhow,
I'm sorry. I got delayed at the office. Burris came to town--delivering
seventeen ultimatums, forty-nine conflicting sets of orders and a
rousing lecture."

"I could have come up to your office, then," Dorothea said, "instead of
compromising my reputation by sneaking up to your hotel room."

"And what about _my_ reputation?" Malone said. "Besides, the office is
no place for what I have in mind."

"Why, Mr. Malone!"

Malone ignored the comment. "Did you bring the notebook?" he said.

"Certainly." Dorothea handed a black, plastic-bound notebook over to
Malone. "But what's all this with a notebook? Going to keep score?"

"Not exactly," Malone said. He took the notebook and leafed through it
idly. It was not Mike Fueyo's book; the boy himself had that now, and
there was little chance of getting it back again. This one belonged to
Dorothea--but, Malone thought, it could serve the same purpose.