Mr. Jones looked deeply hurt. “I’m supposed to be a Brooklyn druggist. And believe me, the uniform is plenty good enough. I know. You should see some of these druggists.”

“Some, Jones, but not most. And that’s my point.”

There was a throat-clearing sound from Mr. Cohen. “Don’t want to interrupt you, Robinson, but this isn’t supposed to be a long visit we’re having with Smith. We just dropped up, kind of.”

“Right, Cohen, right on the old button. All right, everybody ready for instructions?”

“Ready,” they all chorused, Alfred coming in raggedly on the last syllable.

“Here we go then. Cohen, you’re back on your old assignment, keeping careful check on any new beauty contests scheduled anywhere in the country, with special attention to be paid to New York, of course. Kelly, you’re to do the same with conventions. Jane Doe and John Smith will continue to look into anything that might be a camouflaged attempt.”

“Anything particular in mind?” Jane Doe asked.

“Not for you at the moment. You just keep making the rounds of beauty parlors and see if you stumble across something. Smith, we have a special item we’d like you to look into. There’s a fancy dress ball of the plumbers of the New York City area. Drop down there and see what you can see. And let us know if you hit it. Fast.”

Alfred kept his voice determinedly casual. “What do you want me to look out for?”

“Well, if you don’t know by this time—” the voice from the briefcase rose impatiently. “Door prizes, an award for the best costume, even a contest for Miss Pipe Wrench of 1921 or whatever year Earth is in right now. I don’t think we have to worry about that last, though. It would be too damn obvious, and we haven’t hit anything obvious yet”

“How about me?” Jones wanted to know.

“We’ll have special instructions for you pretty soon. There may be a new angle.”