Malone shrugged. "I didn't mean to be—" he paused. "Anyhow, I didn't mean to be funny," he went on. "But I would like to have another idea of what's causing all this."
"Scientific theories," O'Connor said sternly, "are not invented on the spur of the moment. Only after long, careful thought—"
"You mean you can't think of anything," Malone said.
"There must be some other explanation," O'Connor said. "Naturally, since the facts have only now been presented to me, it is impossible for me to display at once a fully constructed theory."
Malone nodded slowly. "O.K.," he said. "Have you got any hints, then? Any ideas at all?"
O'Connor shook his head. "I have not," he said. "But I strongly suggest, Mr. Malone, that you recheck your data. The fault may very well lie in your own interpretations of the actual facts."
"I don't think so," Malone said.
O'Connor grimaced. "I do," he said firmly.
Malone sighed, very faintly. He shifted in the chair and began to realize, for the first time, just how uncomfortable it really was. He also felt a little chilly, and the chill was growing. That, he told himself, was the effect of Dr. O'Connor. He no longer regretted wearing his hat. As a matter of fact, he thought wistfully for a second of a small, light overcoat.
O'Connor, he told himself, was definitely not the warm, friendly type.