He did so.
There were lots and lots of people named Dorothy Francis, in Manhattan and in all the other boroughs.
Malone went back to the bar to think some more. He was on his second bourbon and soda, still thinking but without any new ideas, when BeeBee tapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Pardon me," the maître d' said, "but are you English?"
"Am I what?" Malone said, spilling a little of his drink on the bar.
"Are you English?" BeeBee said.
"Oh," Malone said. "No. Irish. Very Irish."
"That's nice," BeeBee said.
Malone stared at him. "I think it's fine," he said, "but I'd love to know why you asked me."
"Well," BeeBee said, "I knew you couldn't be American. Not after the phone call. You don't have to hide your nationality here; we're quite accustomed to foreign visitors. And we don't have special prices for tourists."