Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

“Yes,” the professor sighed. “It still frightens me, but after what happened this morning, I know that such a bomb is a necessary evil. I had been locked up in a laboratory and had lost touch with reality. Those two men who would have killed me, they were reality, Mr. Stone.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “It will be hard work. I had destroyed all my notes along with the formula, but I will find the formula again and—”

“And maybe by just having it, we’ll never have to use it,” Malcolm said hopefully.

Regan was waiting at the airport. Another man helped the professor out of the Jaguar and started to lead him away toward a small aircraft on the field. He halted the man and motioned to Malcolm. Malcolm got out of the car and went to him.

“Would you have left me alone back there, Mr. Stone, really?”

Malcolm smiled and for the first time he saw the faint trace of a smile on the professor’s wrinkled face.

“Good luck to you, Mr. Stone.”

Malcolm watched after the professor until he disappeared inside the aircraft.

Regan came up and said, “Good work.”

“It was a lousy trick,” he said. He turned and stared at the aircraft.

“You sound as if it was all my doing. The first time you called to tell me where the professor was we discussed the theory that the old man was another one of those conscience-stricken scientists. Using the two men as an act of persuasion was your idea, not mine. When you called the second time and confirmed our—”

“All right, all right, it was say doing,” Stone said angrily.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Just my neck, but I suppose they had to make if look good. It was dark in the boat house and the old fellow was probably too frightened to notice that I was shooting at the floor anyway. Nobody was hurt, except maybe—”

“Who?”

“Forget it,” Malcolm said, tearing his eyes away from the aircraft. “It was just a lousy trick.”

“You’re not getting human on me, are you, Stone?”

Malcolm looked at his red-haired superior and thought of all the terrible places he wanted to tell him to go, but he managed a smile and said, “Not as long as I have you to keep me company.”

Regan nodded and smiled briefly. As he walked Malcolm back to the Jaguar, he said, “Point her toward Madrid. Our man there has new orders for you. I have to accompany the professor to West Berlin.”

Regan slapped Malcolm Stone on the back, turned and hurried toward the waiting aircraft.

Malcolm shifted the lever into low and started away. He passed a group of tourists — Americans — leaving the airport, talking about bullfights, wine and fun. Malcolm Stone was too tired to let it bother him. Before Madrid or anything else, he was going to find a nice soft bed and sleep.