"It's about their meeting place," Kettleman said. "Oh, my. I'm not at all sure I ought to tell you this." He wrung his pale fat hands together and looked at Malone appealingly.
"Now, now," Malone said, feeling foolish. "It's perfectly all right. We don't want to hurt the Spooks. Not any more than we have to. You can tell me, Mr. Kettleman."
"Oh," Kettleman said. "Well, the Spooks do have a sort of secret meeting place, you know. And they meet there."
He stopped. Malone said, "Where is it?"
"Oh, it's a big empty warehouse," Kettleman said. "I really feel terrible about this. They're meeting there tonight sometime, or that's what the rumors say. I shouldn't be telling you—"
"Of course you should," Malone said, trying to sound reassuring.
"Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Kettleman. Tonight?"
"That's right," Kettleman said eagerly. He grinned, and then looked morosely down at his hands.
"Do you know where this warehouse is?" Malone said. "If any of the other little social groups use it—"
"Oh, no, they don't," Kettleman said. "That's what makes it so funny. You see, the warehouse is deserted, but it's kept in good repair; there are bars on the windows, and it's protected by all sorts of alarm systems and things like that. So none of the others can use it. Only the Spooks. You can't get in without a key, not at all."
"But do the Spooks—" Malone began.