"On the Cadillacs," Boyd said. "We've got a final report now. Leibowitz and Hardin finally finished checking the last of them; there weren't quite as many as we were afraid there were going to be. Red isn't a very popular color around here."
"Good," Malone said.
"And there isn't a doggone thing on any of 'em," Boyd said. "Oh, we cleared up a lot of small-time crime, one thing and another, but that's about all. No such thing as an electro-psionic brain to be found anywhere in the lot. Leibowitz says he's willing to swear to it."
Malone sighed. "I didn't think he'd find one," he said.
"You didn't?"
"No," Malone said.
Boyd stabbed at him with the scissors again. "Then why did you cause all that trouble?" he said.
"Because I thought we might find electro-psionic brains," Malone said wearily. "Or one, anyhow."
"But you just said—"
Malone picked up the phone, got long distance, and motioned Boyd to silence in one sweeping series of moves. The long-distance operator said, "Yes, sir? May we help you?"