And Malone thought about answering that one. "Queen Elizabeth told me," was the literal truth, but somehow it didn't sound like it. And
he couldn't find another answer to give the girl.
"Dorothea," he said, and a voice from nowhere added:
"Will you have another drink?"
Malone exploded, "That's not the question. Drinks have nothing to do with notebooks. I'm after notebooks. Can't you understand—" Belatedly, he looked up.
There was Ray, the barman.
"Oh," he said.
"I just came over," Ray said. "And I figured if you couldn't find your notebook, maybe you'd like a drink. So long as you're here."
"Ray," Malone said with feeling, "you are an eminently reasonable fellow. I accept your solution. Nay, more. I endorse your solution. Wholeheartedly."
Ray went off to mix, and Malone stared after him happily. This was really a nice place, he reflected—almost as nice as the City Hall Bar in Chicago where he'd gone long ago with his father.