IalwayslikedMcArdle,thecrabbed,old,round-backed,red-headednewseditor,andIratherhopedthathelikedme.Ofcourse,BeaumontwastherealbossbuthelivedintherarefiedatmosphereofsomeOlympianheightfromwhichhecoulddistinguishnothingsmallerthananinternationalcrisisorasplitintheCabinet.Sometimeswesawhimpassinginlonelymajestytohisinnersanctum,withhiseyesstaringvaguelyandhismindhoveringovertheBalkansorthePersianGulf.Hewasaboveandbeyondus.ButMcArdlewashisfirstlieutenant,anditwashethatweknew.TheoldmannoddedasIenteredtheroom,andhepushedhisspectaclesfaruponhisbaldforehead.
"Well,Mr.Malone,fromallIhear,youseemtobedoingverywell,"saidheinhiskindlyScotchaccent.
Ithankedhim.
"Thecollieryexplosionwasexcellent.SowastheSouthwarkfire.Youhavethetruedescreeptivetouch.Whatdidyouwanttoseemeabout?"
"Toaskafavor."
Helookedalarmed,andhiseyesshunnedmine."Tut,tut!Whatisit?"
"Doyouthink,Sir,thatyoucouldpossiblysendmeonsomemissionforthepaper?Iwoulddomybesttoputitthroughandgetyousomegoodcopy."
"Whatsortofmeesionhadyouinyourmind,Mr.Malone?"
"Well,Sir,anythingthathadadventureanddangerinit.Ireallywoulddomyverybest.Themoredifficultitwas,thebetteritwouldsuitme."
"Youseemveryanxioustoloseyourlife."
"Tojustifymylife,Sir."
"Dearme,Mr.Malone,thisisvery—veryexalted.I'mafraidthedayforthissortofthingisratherpast.Theexpenseofthe'specialmeesion'businesshardlyjustifiestheresult,and,ofcourse,inanycaseitwouldonlybeanexperiencedmanwithanamethatwouldcommandpublicconfidencewhowouldgetsuchanorder.Thebigblankspacesinthemapareallbeingfilledin,andthere'snoroomforromanceanywhere.Waitabit,though!"headded,withasuddensmileuponhisface."Talkingoftheblankspacesofthemapgivesmeanidea.Whataboutexposingafraud—amodernMunchausen—andmakinghimrideeculous?Youcouldshowhimupastheliarthatheis!Eh,man,itwouldbefine.Howdoesitappealtoyou?"
"Anything—anywhere—Icarenothing."
McArdlewa