"Of course I am," she said. "But I don't think you're silly." She smiled again, a very warm smile. Malone took a deep breath and discovered that he hadn't been breathing at all regularly for several minutes. Lou's smile increased a trifle in intensity and he stopped breathing all over again. "All things considered," she said, "I think you're pretty wonderful, Ken."

Malone's voice sounded to him as if it were coming from a great distance. He wondered if the strange feeling in his stomach were the pangs of love, or the descent of the plane. Then he realized that he didn't care. "Well, well," he said airily. "Well, well, well. Frankly, Lou, I'm inclined to agree with you. Though I'm not sure about the qualification."

"Fine thing," she said. "Tell a man he's wonderful and he just nods his head as if he knew it all along."

Malone swallowed hard. "Maybe I did," he said. "And how did you come to this startling conclusion?"

It was Lou who broke the light mood of their speech first. "Look, Ken," she said seriously, "I'm the daughter of an enemy spy. You know that. You're an FBI agent."

"So what?" he said.

"So," she said, "you don't treat me like the daughter of a spy. You treat me just like anybody else."

"I do not," Malone said instantly.

"All right," she said, and shrugged. "But I'm sure none of this is in the FBI manual for daughters of convicted spies."

"Now, you look," Malone said. "Just what do you think this is? The McCarthy era? Any way I treat you, it has nothing to do with your father. He's a spy, and we caught him and we sent him back to Moscow.

That's our job. But all this about the sins of the fathers being visited on the heads of the children, even unto the seventh generation--this is just plain silly. You're you; you're not your father. You haven't done anything--why should I treat you as if you have?"

"How do you know I'm not a spy, too?" she said.

"Because," Malone said flatly, "I know."

"Really?" she said softly. "Do you really?"

Malone opened his mouth, shut it and then started again. "Strictly speaking," he said carefully, "I don't know. But we're in the United States now, where a person is considered innocent until proven guilty."

"And that," Lou said, "is all you're going on, I suppose."

"Not all," Malone said.

"I didn't think so," Lou said, still smiling.

"Don't ask me how," Malone said, "but we're pretty sure you knew nothing about your father's activities. Forget it."

Lou looked suddenly slightly disappointed. Malone wondered why. Of course, there was one more reason, and maybe she'd thought of that.

"It does make it easier," he said, "that you happen to be a beautiful girl."

She smiled again, and started to say something, but she never got the chance. The landing gear of the aircraft b.u.mped gently against the runway, and the ship rolled slowly in to a stop.

A second pa.s.sed. From the back of the plane a voice said: "Are we back in Washington, S--Mr. Malone?"

"That's right, Miss Thompson," Malone told the Queen.

"And Miss Garbitsch--"

"I'm fine, Miss Thompson," Luba said. She swung her feet around to the deck.

"Wait a minute," Malone said. "Do you think you ought to get up?"

Lou's smile seemed to reduce him to small, very hot ashes. "Ken," she said, "the doctor said I was fine, so what are you worrying about? I can get up. I'll be all right."

"Oh, okay," he said, and stepped back. Her Majesty had already left the plane. Lou got up, and wavered just a little. Malone held out his arms, and found her in them before he had thought about it.

A long time seemed to pa.s.s. Malone wasn't sure whether he was standing still because he wanted to, or because he was absolutely incapable of motion. Lou didn't seem in any hurry to break away, either.

Then she put her arms around his neck.

"Sleuth," she said, "don't you ever follow up a hint?"

"Hint?" Malone said.

"d.a.m.n it," Lou said in a soft, sweet voice, "kiss me, Ken."

Malone had no answer to that--at least, no verbal answer.

One didn't seem to be needed.

When he finally came up for air, he said: "Lou..."

"Yes, Ken?"

"Lou, where are you going from here?"

Lou stepped back a pace. "What?" she said.

"I mean, back to New York?" Malone said. "Or someplace else? I mean-- well, what are you going to do?"

"Oh," Lou said. "Oh, yes. I'll be going back to New York. After all, Ken, I do have a living to make, such as it is, and Sir Lewis is expecting me."

"I don't know," Malone said, "but it still sounds funny. A girl like you working for--well, for the Psychical Research people. Ghosts and ectoplasm and all that."

Lou stepped back another pace. "Now, wait a minute," she said. "You seemed to need their information, all right."

"But that was--oh, well," Malone said. "Never mind. Maybe I'm silly.

It really doesn't matter."

"I guess it doesn't, now," she said. "Except that it does mean I've got to leave for New York almost at once."

"Can you cut out that 'almost'?" Malone said. "Because I've got to be there myself, and right away. If you hurry, we can get the same plane."

"That would be great," she said.

"Okay, then," Malone said. "Don't you worry about a thing, I'll take care of reservations and everything."

"My, my," Lou said. "What it must be like to have all that pull and influence."

"What?" Malone said.