"This time," Burris said, in a tone that sounded almost awed, "they want to keep it a secret."
"A secret?" Malone said, blinking. "But that's ... that's not the American way."
Burris shrugged. "It's un-congressman-like, anyhow," he said. "But that's what they've done. Tiptoed over to me and whispered softly that the thing has to be investigated quietly. Naturally, they didn't give me any orders—but only because they know they can't make one stick. They suggested it pretty strongly."
"Any reasons?" Malone said. The whole idea interested him strangely. It was odd—and he found himself almost liking odd cases, lately. That is, he amended hurriedly, if they didn't get too odd.
"Oh, they had reasons, all right," Burris said. "It took a little coaxing, but I managed to pry some loose. You see, every one of them found inefficiency in his own department. And every one knows that other men are investigating inefficiency."
"Oh," Malone said.
"That's right," Burris said. "Every one of them came to me to get me to prove that the goof-ups in his particular department weren't his fault. That covers them in case one of the others happens to light into the department."
"Well, it must be somebody's fault," Malone said.
"It isn't theirs," Burris said wearily. "I ought to know. They told me. At great length, Malone."
Malone felt a stab of honest pity. "How many so far?" he said.