In five minutes he was naked as—he told himself—a jay-bird. What was so completely nude about those particular birds escaped him for the moment, but it wasn't important. The three men were all holding various parts of the strait-jacket or of his clothing.
They were still watching him warily.
"Look in the pockets," Malone said.
"Sure," one said. The man holding the jacket reached into it and dropped it as if it were hot.
"Hey," he announced in a sick voice, "the guy's carrying a gun."
"A gun?" the second one asked.
The first one gestured toward the crumpled jacket on the floor. "Look for yourself," he said. "A real honest-to-God gun. I could feel it."
Malone leaned against one wall, looking as nonchalant as it was possible for him to look in the nude. The room being cool, he felt he was succeeding reasonably well. "Try the other pocket," he suggested.
The first attendant gave him a long stare. "What've you got in there, buddy?" he asked. "A howitzer?"
"Jesus," the second attendant said, without moving toward the jacket.
"An armed nut. What a world."