Ed Newpole came in. “How’s the arm this morning?” he asked. “Much better, thanks,” I said. “It’s improving every day.” “Good,” he said. “I got a call from GHQ that the lab report on the Venus case is ready. Do you want to drive into Boston with me?” I dropped the razor and began to wash off the lather. “When can we go?” “Now,” he said. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?” “Like I’ve never been before.” “Sure, kid,” he said. “But don’t expect miracles. And let’s stop for coffee first.” We drove along the wide, sinuous concrete ribbon that led to Boston. Newpole lit his pipe and puffed on it. He said, “Where’s your pipe?” “I’m afraid I’ll chew the stem to bits,” I said. “No sense thinking too much about it,”