“Sure,” Boyd said. “The only trouble is—” He paused. “Ken,” he said, “do you mind if I smoke? I mean, do you mind the smell of cigars?”
“Mind?” Malone said. “Not at all.” He blinked. “Besides,” he added, “maybe this one won’t smell like a cigar.”
“Well, the last one did,” Boyd said. He took a cigarette out of a pack in his pocket, and lit it. He sniffed. “You know,” he said, “you’re right. This one doesn’t.”
“I told you,” Malone said. “Must have been a bad cigarette. Spoiled or something.”
“I guess so,” Boyd said vaguely. “But about these retirements—the FBI wanted me to look into it because of Burley’s being mixed up with the space program scandal last year. Remember?”
“Vaguely,” Malone said. “I was busy last year.”
“Sure you were,” Boyd said. “We were both busy getting famous and well known.”
Malone grinned. “Go on with the story,” he said.
Boyd puffed at his cigarette. “Anyhow, we couldn’t find anything really wrong,” he said. “Three senators retiring because of ill health, one because of old age. And Farnsworth, the youngest, had a nervous breakdown.”
“I didn’t hear about it,” Malone said.