“Thanks,” Malone said politely. “But what about Mike Sand? Any information?”
“Plenty,” Boyd said. “I damn near didn’t believe it.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t believe it?” Malone said. “Isn’t the information any good?”
“It’s good, all right,” Boyd said. “It’s great. He practically talked his head off to me. Gave me all his books, including secret sets. And I’ve put him under arrest as a material witness—at his own request.”
“It sounds,” Malone said, “as if Mike Sand has had a sudden and surprising change of heart.”
“Doesn’t it, though,” Boyd said. “We can crack the ITU wide open now, and I mean really wide open.”
“Same pattern?” Malone said.
“Of course it is,” Boyd said. “What does it sound like? Same pattern.”
“Good,” Malone said. “Get on up here. I’ll talk to you later.”
He cut off in a hurry, leaned back in his chair and started to think. At first, he thought of a cigar. Boyd, he figured, couldn’t be back in the office for some time, and nobody else would come in. He locked the door, drew out the cigar-laden box he kept in his desk in New York, and lit up with great satisfaction.