"Hello? Malone?"
"I'm here, Tom," Malone said guiltily. "This is me. What's the trouble?"
"Trouble?" Boyd said. "There isn't any trouble. Well, not really. Or maybe it is. I don't know."
Malone scowled at the audio receiver, and for the first time wished he had gone ahead and had a video circuit put in, so that Boyd could see the horrendous expression on his face.
"Look," he said. "It's seven here and that's too early. Out there, it's four, and that's practically ridiculous. What's so important?"
He knew perfectly well that Boyd wasn't calling him just for the fun of it. The man was a good agent. But why a call at this hour?
Malone muttered under his breath. Then, self-consciously, he squashed out his cigar and lit a cigarette while Boyd was saying: "Ken, I think we may have found what you've been looking for."
It wasn't safe to say too much, even over a scrambled circuit. But Malone got the message without difficulty.
"Yeah?" he said, sitting up on the edge of the couch. "You sure?"