Ned shakes his head in false disappointment. "Amateur," he remarks. "Of course the suspicious-looking guy isn't a spy. He wouldn't be a very good spy if a random kid could tell that he was up to something nefarious, now would he? Now, that guy," Ned looks, with raised eyebrows, at a man who is trying to hail a cab. He looks, from toe to tip, thoroughly average. He's not attractive, but not ugly. Not fat, not thin, not particularly tall or short or distinctive in any particular. "He's the one I would say is the spy, if I had to choose. The ones with the most to hide are the ones who tend to find the best ways of hiding it."

Not that he has any experience in the matter, of course. Ginsberg, he expects, will chalk that bit of insight up to Ned's perspicacity about human nature, and not think any more of it than that.

"I'd do the same thing," he adds as an afterthought, though he realizes logically that information should have come first, "It's a good way to pass the time."