“Ah, yes,” Sir Lewis said. “Pleased to meet you. Always happy, of course, to do whatever I can for your FBI. Not only a duty, so to speak, but a pleasure. Sit down. Please do sit down.”
Malone found a chair at the side of the desk, and sank into it. It was soft and comfortable. It provided such a contrast to O’Connor’s furnishings that Malone began to wish it was Sir Lewis who was employed at Yucca Flats. Then he could tell Sir Lewis everything about the case.
Now, of course, he could only hedge and try to make do without stating very many facts. “Sir Lewis,” he said, “I trust you’ll keep this conversation confidential.”
“Naturally,” Sir Lewis said. He removed the pipe, stared at it, and replaced it.
“I can’t give you the full details,” Malone went on, “but the FBI is presently engaged in an investigation which requires the specialized knowledge your organization seems to have.”
“FBI?” Sir Lewis said. “Specialized investigation?” He seemed pleased, but a trifle puzzled. “Dear boy, anything we have is at your disposal, of course. But I quite fail to see how you can consider us—”
“It’s rather an unusual problem,” Malone said, feeling that that was the understatement of the year. “But I understand that your records go back nearly a century.”
“Quite true,” Sir Lewis murmured.
“During that time,” Malone said, “the Society investigated a great many supposedly supernatural or supernormal incidents.”
“Many of them,” Sir Lewis said, “were discovered to be fraudulent, I’m afraid. The great majority, in fact.”