1 files changed, 5538 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/23657.txt b/23657.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d4b14ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/23657.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5538 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of That Sweet Little Old Lady, by 
+Gordon Randall Garrett     (AKA Mark Phillips)
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: That Sweet Little Old Lady
+
+Author: Gordon Randall Garrett     (AKA Mark Phillips)
+
+Illustrator: Kelly Freas
+
+Release Date: November 29, 2007 [EBook #23657]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT SWEET LITTLE OLD LADY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ September
+    and October 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
+    that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor
+    spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+    Subscript characters are shown within {braces}.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: That Sweet Little Old Lady]
+
+                           _Usually, the
+ toughest part of the job is stating the
+ problem clearly, and the solution is then
+ easy. This time the FBI could state the
+ problem easily; solving it, though was
+ not. How do you catch a telepathic spy?_
+
+BY MARK PHILLIPS
+
+Illustrated by Freas
+
+
+    _"What are we going to call that sweet little old lady, now that_
+    mother _is a dirty word?"_
+
+                                                        --_Dave Foley_
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+In 1914, it was enemy aliens.
+
+In 1930, it was Wobblies.
+
+In 1957, it was fellow travelers.
+
+And, in 1971....
+
+"They could be anywhere," Andrew J. Burris said, with an expression
+which bordered on exasperated horror. "They could be all around us.
+Heaven only knows."
+
+He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up--a chunky little man
+with bright blue eyes and large hands. He paced to the window and looked
+out at Washington, and then he came back to the desk. A persistent
+office rumor held that he had become head of the FBI purely because he
+happened to have an initial _J_ in his name, but in his case the _J_
+stood for Jeremiah. And, at the moment, his tone expressed all the
+hopelessness of that Old Testament prophet's lamentations.
+
+"We're helpless," he said, looking at the young man with the crisp brown
+hair who was sitting across the desk. "That's what it is, we're
+helpless."
+
+Kenneth Malone tried to look dependable. "Just tell me what to do," he
+said.
+
+"You're a good agent, Kenneth," Burris said. "You're one of the best.
+That's why you've been picked for this job. And I want to say that I
+picked you personally. Believe me, there's never been anything like it
+before."
+
+"I'll do my best," Malone said at random. He was twenty-eight, and he
+had been an FBI agent for three years. In that time, he had, among other
+things, managed to break up a gang of smugglers, track down a
+counterfeiting ring, and capture three kidnapers. For reasons which he
+could neither understand nor explain, no one seemed willing to attribute
+his record to luck.
+
+"I know you will," Burris said. "And if anybody can crack this case,
+Malone, you're the man. It's just that--everything sounds so
+_impossible_. Even after all the conferences we've had."
+
+"Conferences?" Malone said vaguely. He wished the chief would get to the
+point. Any point. He smiled gently across the desk and tried to look
+competent and dependable and reassuring. Burris' expression didn't
+change.
+
+"You'll get the conference tapes later," Burris said. "You can study
+them before you leave. I suggest you study them very carefully, Malone.
+Don't be like me. Don't get confused." He buried his face in his hands.
+Malone waited patiently. After a few seconds, Burris looked up. "Did you
+read books when you were a child?" he asked.
+
+Malone said: "What?"
+
+"Books," Burris said. "When you were a child. Read them."
+
+"Sure I did," Malone said. "'Bomba the Jungle Boy,' and 'Doolittle,' and
+'Lucky Starr,' and 'Little Women'--"
+
+"'Little Women'?"
+
+"When Beth died," Malone said, "I wanted to cry. But I didn't. My father
+said big boys don't cry."
+
+"And your father was right," Burris said. "Why, when I was a ... never
+mind. Forget about Beth and your father. Think about 'Lucky Starr' for a
+minute. Remember him?"
+
+"Sure," Malone said. "I liked those books. You know, it's funny, but the
+books you read when you're a kid, they kind of stay with you. Know what
+I mean? I can still remember that one about Venus, for instance. Gee,
+that was--"
+
+"Never mind about Venus, too," Burris said sharply. "Keep your mind on
+the problem."
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said. He paused. "What problem, sir?" he added.
+
+"The problem we're discussing," Burris said. He gave Malone a bright,
+blank stare. "Just listen to me."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"All right, then." Burris took a deep breath. He seemed nervous. Once
+again he stood up and went to the window. This time, he spoke without
+turning. "Remember how everybody used to laugh about spaceships, and
+orbital satellites, and life on other planets? That was just in those
+'Lucky Starr' books. That was all just for kids, wasn't it?"
+
+"Well, I don't know," Malone said slowly.
+
+"Sure it was all for kids," Burris said. "It was laughable. Nobody took
+it seriously."
+
+"Well, _somebody_ must--"
+
+"You just keep quiet and listen," Burris said.
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said.
+
+Burris nodded. His hands were clasped behind his back. "We're not
+laughing any more, are we, Malone?" he said without moving.
+
+There was silence.
+
+"Well, are we?"
+
+"Did you want me to answer, sir?"
+
+"Of course I did!" Burris snapped.
+
+"You told me to keep quiet and--"
+
+"Never mind what I told you," Burris said. "Just do what I told you."
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said. "No, sir," he added after a second.
+
+"No, sir, what?" Burris asked softly.
+
+"No, sir, we're not laughing any more," Malone said.
+
+"Ah," Burris said. "And why aren't we laughing any more?"
+
+There was a little pause. Malone said, tentatively: "Because there's
+nothing to laugh about, sir?"
+
+Burris whirled. "On the head!" he said happily. "You've hit the nail on
+the head, Kenneth. I knew I could depend on you." His voice grew serious
+again, and thoughtful. "We're not laughing any more because there's
+nothing to laugh about. We have orbital satellites, and we've landed on
+the Moon with an atomic rocket. The planets are the next step, and after
+that the stars. Man's heritage, Kenneth. The stars. And the stars,
+Kenneth, belong to Man--not to the Soviets!"
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said soberly.
+
+"So," Burris said, "we should learn not to laugh any more. But have we?"
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"We haven't," Burris said with decision. "Can you read my mind?"
+
+"No, sir," Malone said.
+
+"Can I read your mind?"
+
+Malone hesitated. At last he said: "Not that I know of, sir."
+
+"Well, I can't," Burris snapped. "And can any of us read each other's
+mind?"
+
+Malone shook his head. "No, sir," he said.
+
+Burris nodded. "That's the problem," he said. "That's the case I'm
+sending you out to crack."
+
+This time, the silence was a long one.
+
+At last, Malone said: "What problem, sir?"
+
+"Mind reading," Burris said. "There's a spy at work in the Nevada plant,
+Kenneth. And the spy is a telepath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The video tapes were very clear and very complete. There were a great
+many of them, and it was long after nine o'clock when Kenneth Malone
+decided to take a break and get some fresh air. Washington was a good
+city for walking, even at night, and Malone liked to walk. Sometimes he
+pretended, even to himself, that he got his best ideas while walking,
+but he knew perfectly well that wasn't true. His best ideas just seemed
+to come to him, out of nowhere, precisely as the situation demanded
+them.
+
+He was just lucky, that was all. He had a talent for being lucky. But
+nobody would ever believe that. A record like his was spectacular, even
+in the annals of the FBI, and Burris himself believed that the record
+showed some kind of superior ability.
+
+Malone knew that wasn't true, but what could he do about it? After all,
+he didn't want to resign, did he? It was kind of romantic and exciting
+to be an FBI agent, even after three years. A man got a chance to travel
+around a lot and see things, and it was interesting. The pay was pretty
+good, too.
+
+The only trouble was that, if he didn't quit, he was going to have to
+find a telepath.
+
+The notion of telepathic spies just didn't sound right to Malone. It
+bothered him in a remote sort of way. Not that the idea of telepathy
+itself was alien to him--after all, he was even more aware than the
+average citizen that research had been going on in that field for
+something over a quarter of a century, and that the research was even
+speeding up.
+
+But the cold fact that a telepathy-detecting device had been invented
+somehow shocked his sense of propriety, and his notions of privacy. It
+wasn't decent, that was all.
+
+There ought to be something sacred, he told himself angrily.
+
+He stopped walking and looked up. He was on Pennsylvania Avenue, heading
+toward the White House.
+
+That was no good. He went to the corner and turned off, down the block.
+He had, he told himself, nothing at all to see the President about.
+
+Not yet, anyhow.
+
+The streets were dark and very peaceful. _I get my best ideas while
+walking_, Malone said without convincing himself. He thought back to the
+video tapes.
+
+The report on the original use of the machine itself had been on one of
+the first tapes, and Malone could still see and hear it. That was one
+thing he did have, he reflected; his memory was pretty good.
+
+Burris had been the first speaker on the tapes, and he'd given the
+serial and reference number in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. His face
+had been perfectly blank, and he looked just like the head of the FBI
+people were accustomed to seeing on their TV and newsreel screens.
+Malone wondered what had happened to him between the time the tapes had
+been made and the time he'd sent for Malone.
+
+Maybe the whole notion of telepathy was beginning to get him, Malone
+thought.
+
+Burris recited the standard tape opening in a rapid mumble: "Any person
+or agent unauthorized for this tape please refrain from viewing further,
+under penalties as prescribed by law." Then he looked off, out past the
+screen to the left, and said: "Dr. Thomas O'Connor, of Westinghouse
+Laboratories. Will you come here, Dr. O'Connor?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor came into the lighted square of screen slowly, looking all
+around him. "This is very fascinating," he said, blinking in the
+lamplight. "I hadn't realized that you people took so many
+precautions--"
+
+He was, Malone thought, somewhere between fifty and sixty, tall and thin
+with skin so transparent that he nearly looked like a living X ray. He
+had pale blue eyes and pale white hair and, Malone thought, if there
+ever were a contest for the best-looking ghost, Dr. Thomas O'Connor
+would win it hands--or phalanges--down.
+
+"This is all necessary for the national security," Burris said, a little
+sternly.
+
+"Oh," Dr. O'Connor said quickly, "I realize that, of course. Naturally.
+I can certainly see that."
+
+"Let's go ahead, shall we?" Burris said.
+
+O'Connor nodded. "Certainly. Certainly."
+
+Burris said: "Well, then," and paused. After a second he started again:
+"Now, Dr. O'Connor, would you please give us a sort of verbal run-down
+on this for our records?"
+
+"Of course," Dr. O'Connor said. He smiled into the video cameras and
+cleared his throat. "I take it you don't want an explanation of how
+this machine works. I mean: you don't want a technical exposition, do
+you?"
+
+"No," Burris said, and added: "Not by any means. Just tell us what it
+does."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. O'Connor suddenly reminded Malone of a professor he'd had in college
+for one of the law courses. He had, Malone thought, the same smiling
+gravity of demeanor, the same condescending attitude of absolute
+authority. It was clear that Dr. O'Connor lived in a world of his own, a
+world that was not even touched by the common run of men.
+
+"Well," he began, "to put it very simply, the device indicates whether
+or not a man's mental ... ah ... processes are being influenced by
+outside ... by outside influences." He gave the cameras another little
+smile. "If you will allow me, I will demonstrate on the machine itself."
+
+He took two steps that carried him out of camera range, and returned
+wheeling a large heavy-looking box. Dangling from the metal covering
+were a number of wires and attachments. A long cord led from the box to
+the floor, and snaked out of sight to the left.
+
+"Now," Dr. O'Connor said. He selected a single lead, apparently, Malone
+thought, at random. "This electrode--"
+
+"Just a moment, doctor," Burris said. He was eying the machine with a
+combination of suspicion and awe. "A while back you mentioned something
+about 'outside influences.' Just what, specifically, does that mean?"
+
+With some regret, Dr. O'Connor dropped the lead. "Telepathy," he said.
+"By outside influences, I meant influences on the mind, such as
+telepathy or mind reading of some nature."
+
+"I see," Burris said. "You can detect a telepath with this machine."
+
+"I'm afraid--"
+
+"Well, some kind of a mind reader anyhow," Burris said. "We won't
+quarrel about terms."
+
+"Certainly not," Dr. O'Connor said. The smile he turned on Burris was as
+cold and empty as the inside of Orbital Station One. "What I meant was
+... if you will permit me to continue ... that we cannot detect any sort
+of telepath or mind reader with this device. To be frank, I very much
+wish that we could; it would make everything a great deal simpler.
+However, the laws of psionics don't seem to operate that way."
+
+"Well, then," Burris said, "what does the thing do?" His face wore a
+mask of confusion. Momentarily, Malone felt sorry for his chief. He
+could remember how he'd felt, himself, when that law professor had come
+up with a particularly baffling question in class.
+
+"This machine," Dr. O'Connor said with authority, "detects the slight
+variations in mental activity that occur when a person's mind is _being_
+read."
+
+"You mean, if my mind were being read right now--"
+
+"Not right now," Dr. O'Connor said. "You see, the bulk of this machine
+is in Nevada; the structure is both too heavy and too delicate for
+transport. And there are other qualifications--"
+
+"I meant theoretically," Burris said.
+
+"Theoretically," Dr. O'Connor began, and smiled again, "if your mind
+were being read, this machine would detect it, supposing that the
+machine were in operating condition and all of the other qualifications
+had been met. You see, Mr. Burris, no matter how poor a telepath a man
+may be, he has some slight ability--even if only very slight--to detect
+the fact that his mind is being read."
+
+"You mean, if somebody were reading my mind, I'd know it?" Burris said.
+His face showed, Malone realized, that he plainly disbelieved this
+statement.
+
+"You would know it," Dr. O'Connor said, "but you would never know you
+knew it. To elucidate: in a normal person--like you, for instance, or
+even like myself--the state of having one's mind read merely results in
+a vague, almost subconscious feeling of irritation, something that could
+easily be attributed to minor worries, or fluctuations in one's hormonal
+balance. The hormonal balance, Mr. Burris, is--"
+
+"Thank you," Burris said with a trace of irritation. "I know what
+hormones are."
+
+"Ah. Good," Dr. O'Connor said equably. "In any case, to continue: this
+machine interprets those specific feelings as indications that the mind
+is being ... ah ... 'eavesdropped' upon."
+
+You could almost see the quotation marks around what Dr. O'Connor
+considered slang dropping into place, Malone thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I see," Burris said with a disappointed air. "But what do you mean, it
+won't detect a telepath? Have you ever actually worked with a telepath?"
+
+"Certainly we have," Dr. O'Connor said. "If we hadn't, how would we be
+able to tell that the machine was, in fact, indicating the presence of
+telepathy? The theoretical state of the art is not, at present,
+sufficiently developed to enable us to--"
+
+"I see," Burris said hurriedly. "Only wait a minute."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You mean you've actually got a real mind reader? You've found one? One
+that works?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I should have said, Mr.
+Burris, that we did once have one," he admitted. "He was, unfortunately,
+an imbecile, with a mental age between five and six, as nearly as we
+were able to judge."
+
+"An imbecile?" Burris said. "But how were you able to--"
+
+"He could repeat a person's thoughts word for word," Dr. O'Connor said.
+"Of course, he was utterly incapable of understanding the meaning behind
+them. That didn't matter; he simply repeated whatever you were
+thinking. Rather disconcerting."
+
+"I'm sure," Burris said. "But he was really an imbecile? There wasn't
+any chance of--"
+
+"Of curing him?" Dr. O'Connor said. "None, I'm afraid. We did at one
+time feel that there had been a mental breakdown early in the boy's
+life, and, indeed, it's perfectly possible that he was normal for the
+first year or so. The records we did manage to get on that period,
+however, were very much confused, and there was never any way of telling
+anything at all, for certain. It's easy to see what caused the
+confusion, of course: telepathy in an imbecile is rather an oddity--and
+any normal adult would probably be rather hesitant about admitting that
+he was capable of it. That's why we have not found another subject; we
+must merely sit back and wait for lightning to strike."
+
+Burris sighed. "I see your problem," he said. "But what happened to this
+imbecile boy of yours?"
+
+"Very sad," Dr. O'Connor said. "Six months ago, at the age of fifteen,
+the boy simply died. He simply--gave up, and died."
+
+"Gave up?"
+
+"That was as good an explanation as our medical department was able to
+provide, Mr. Burris. There was some malfunction, but--we like to say
+that he simply gave up. Living became too difficult for him."
+
+"All right," Burris said after a pause. "This telepath of yours is dead,
+and there aren't any more where he came from. Or if there are, you don't
+know how to look for them. All right. But to get back to this machine of
+yours: it couldn't detect the boy's ability?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. We've worked hard on
+that problem at Westinghouse, Mr. Burris, but we haven't yet been able
+to find a method of actually detecting telepaths."
+
+"But you can detect--"
+
+"That's right," Dr. O'Connor said. "We can detect the fact that a man's
+mind is being read." He stopped, and his face became suddenly morose.
+When he spoke again, he sounded guilty, as if he were making an
+admission that pained him. "Of course, Mr. Burris, there's nothing we
+can _do_ about a man's mind being read. Nothing whatever." He essayed a
+grin that didn't look very healthy. "But at least," he said, "you know
+you're being spied on."
+
+Burris grimaced. There was a little silence while Dr. O'Connor stroked
+the metal box meditatively, as if it were the head of his beloved.
+
+At last, Burris said: "Dr. O'Connor, how sure can you be of all this?"
+
+The look he received made all the previous conversation seem as warm and
+friendly as a Christmas party by comparison. It was a look that froze
+the air of the room into a solid chunk, Malone thought, a chunk you
+could have chipped pieces from, for souvenirs, later, when Dr. O'Connor
+had gone and you could get into the room without any danger of being
+quick-frozen by the man's unfriendly eye.
+
+"Mr. Burris," Dr. O'Connor said in a voice that matched the temperature
+of his gaze, "please. Remember our slogan."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone sighed. He fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, found
+one, and extracted a single cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth and
+started fishing in various pockets for his lighter.
+
+He sighed again. He preferred cigars, a habit he'd acquired from the
+days when he'd filched them from his father's cigar case, but his mental
+picture of the fearless and alert young FBI agent didn't include a
+cigar. Somehow, remembering his father as neither fearless nor, exactly,
+alert--anyway, not the way the movies and the TV screens liked to
+picture the words--he had the impression that cigars looked out of place
+on FBI agents.
+
+And it was, in any case, a small sacrifice to make. He found his lighter
+and shielded it from the brisk wind. He looked out over water at the
+Jefferson Memorial, and was surprised that he'd managed to walk as far
+as he had. Then he stopped thinking about walking, and took a puff of
+his cigarette, and forced himself to think about the job in hand.
+
+Naturally, the Westinghouse gadget had been declared Ultra Top Secret as
+soon as it had been worked out. Virtually everything was, these days.
+And the whole group involved in the machine and its workings had been
+transferred without delay to the United States Laboratories out in Yucca
+Flats, Nevada.
+
+Out there in the desert, there just wasn't much to do, Malone supposed,
+except to play with the machine. And, of course, look at the scenery.
+But when you've seen one desert, Malone thought confusedly, you've seen
+them all.
+
+So, the scientists ran experiments on the machine, and they made a
+discovery of a kind they hadn't been looking for.
+
+Somebody, they discovered, was picking the brains of the scientists
+there.
+
+Not the brains of the people working with the telepathy machine.
+
+And not the brains of the people working on the several other
+Earth-limited projects at Yucca Flats.
+
+They'd been reading the minds of some of the scientists working on the
+new and highly classified non-rocket space drive.
+
+In other words, the Yucca Flats plant was infested with a telepathic
+spy. And how do you go about finding a telepath? Malone sighed. Spies
+that got information in any of the usual ways were tough enough to
+locate. A telepathic spy was a lot tougher proposition.
+
+Well, one thing about Andrew J. Burris--he had an answer for everything.
+Malone thought of what his chief had said: "It takes a thief to catch a
+thief. And if the Westinghouse machine won't locate a telepathic spy, I
+know what will."
+
+"What?" Malone had asked.
+
+"It's simple," Burris had said. "Another telepath. There has to be one
+around somewhere. Westinghouse _did_ have one, after all, and the
+Russians _still_ have one. Malone, that's your job: go out and find me a
+telepath."
+
+Burris had an answer for everything, all right, Malone thought. But he
+couldn't see where the answer did him very much good. After all, if it
+takes a telepath to catch a telepath, how do you catch the telepath
+you're going to use to catch the first telepath?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Malone ran that through his mind again, and then gave it up. It sounded
+as if it should have made sense, somehow, but it just didn't, and that
+was all there was to that.
+
+He dropped his cigarette to the ground and mashed it out with the toe
+of his shoe. Then he looked up.
+
+Out there, over the water, was the Jefferson Memorial. It stood, white
+in the floodlights, beautiful and untouchable in the darkness. Malone
+stared at it. What would Thomas Jefferson have done in a crisis like
+this?
+
+Jefferson, he told himself without much conviction, would have been just
+as confused as he was.
+
+But he'd have had to find a telepath, Malone thought. Malone determined
+that he would do likewise. If Thomas Jefferson could do it, the least
+he, Malone, could do was to give it a good try.
+
+There was only one little problem:
+
+_Where_, Malone thought, _do I start looking?_
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Early the next morning, Malone awoke on a plane, heading across the
+continent toward Nevada. He had gone home to sleep, and he'd had to wake
+up to get on the plane, and now here he was, waking up again. It seemed,
+somehow, like a vicious circle.
+
+The engines hummed gently as they pushed the big ship through the middle
+stratosphere's thinly distributed molecules. Malone looked out at the
+purple-dark sky and set himself to think out his problem again.
+
+He was still mulling things over when the ship lowered its landing gear
+and rolled to a stop on the big field near Yucca Flats. Malone sighed
+and climbed slowly out of his seat. There was a car waiting for him at
+the airfield, though, and that seemed to presage a smooth time; Malone
+remembered calling Dr. O'Connor the night before, and congratulated
+himself on his foresight.
+
+Unfortunately, when he reached the main gate of the high double fence
+that surrounded the more than ninety square miles of United States
+Laboratories, he found out that entrance into that sanctum sanctorum of
+Security wasn't as easy as he'd imagined--not even for an FBI man. His
+credentials were checked with the kind of minute care Malone had always
+thought people reserved for disputed art masterpieces, and it was with a
+great show of reluctance that the Special Security guards passed him
+inside as far as the office of the Chief Security Officer.
+
+There, the Chief Security Officer himself, a man who could have doubled
+for Torquemada, eyed Malone with ill-concealed suspicion while he called
+Burris at FBI headquarters back in Washington.
+
+Burris identified Malone on the video screen and the Chief Security
+Officer, looking faintly disappointed, stamped the agent's pass and
+thanked the FBI chief. Malone had the run of the place.
+
+Then he had to find a courier jeep. The Westinghouse division, it
+seemed, was a good two miles away.
+
+As Malone knew perfectly well, the main portion of the entire Yucca
+Flats area was devoted solely to research on the new space drive which
+was expected to make the rocket as obsolete as the blunderbuss--at least
+as far as space travel was concerned. Not, Malone thought uneasily, that
+the blunderbuss had ever been used for space travel, but--
+
+He got off the subject hurriedly. The jeep whizzed by buildings, most of
+them devoted to aspects of the non-rocket drive. The other projects
+based at Yucca Flats had to share what space was left--and that
+included, of course, the Westinghouse research project.
+
+It turned out to be a single, rather small white building with a fence
+around it. The fence bothered Malone a little, but there was no need to
+worry; this time he was introduced at once into Dr. O'Connor's office.
+It was paneled in wallpaper manufactured to look like pine, and the
+telepathy expert sat behind a large black desk bigger than any Malone
+had ever seen in the FBI offices. There wasn't a scrap of paper on the
+desk; its surface was smooth and shiny, and behind it the nearly
+transparent Dr. Thomas O'Connor was close to invisible.
+
+He looked, in person, just about the same as he'd looked on the FBI
+tapes. Malone closed the door of the office behind him, looked for a
+chair and didn't find one. In Dr. O'Connor's office, it was perfectly
+obvious, Dr. O'Connor sat down. You stood, and were uncomfortable.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone took off his hat. He reached across the desk to shake hands with
+the telepathy expert, and Dr. O'Connor gave him a limp and fragile paw.
+"Thanks for giving me a little time," Malone said. "I really appreciate
+it." He smiled across the desk. His feet were already beginning to hurt.
+
+"Not at all," Dr. O'Connor said, returning the smile with one of his own
+special quick-frozen brand. "I realize how important FBI work is to all
+of us, Mr. Malone. What can I do to help you?"
+
+Malone shifted his feet. "I'm afraid I wasn't very specific on the phone
+last night," he said. "It wasn't anything I wanted to discuss over a
+line that might have been tapped. You see, I'm on the telepathy case."
+
+Dr. O'Connor's eyes widened the merest trifle. "I see," he said. "Well,
+I'll certainly do everything I can to help you."
+
+"Fine," Malone said. "Let's get right down to business, then. The first
+thing I want to ask you about is this detector of yours. I understand
+it's too big to carry around--but how about making a smaller model?"
+
+"Smaller?" Dr. O'Connor permitted himself a ghostly chuckle. "I'm afraid
+that isn't possible, Mr. Malone. I would be happy to let you have a
+small model of the machine if we had one available--more than happy. I
+would like to see such a machine myself, as a matter of fact.
+Unfortunately, Mr. Malone--"
+
+"There just isn't one, right?" Malone said.
+
+"Correct," Dr. O'Connor said. "And there are a few other factors. In the
+first place, the person being analyzed has to be in a specially shielded
+room, such as is used in encephalographic analysis. Otherwise, the
+mental activity of the other persons around him would interfere with the
+analysis." He frowned a little. "I wish that we knew a bit more about
+psionic machines. The trouble with the present device, frankly, is that
+it is partly psionic and partly electronic, and we can't be entirely
+sure where one part leaves off and the other begins. Very trying. Very
+trying indeed."
+
+"I'll bet it is," Malone said sympathetically, wishing he understood
+what Dr. O'Connor was talking about.
+
+The telepathy expert sighed. "However," he said, "we keep working at
+it." Then he looked at Malone expectantly.
+
+Malone shrugged. "Well, if I can't carry the thing around, I guess
+that's that," he said. "But here's the next question: Do you happen to
+know the maximum range of a telepath? I mean: How far away can he get
+from another person and still read his mind?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor frowned again. "We don't have definite information on that,
+I'm afraid," he said. "Poor little Charlie was rather difficult to work
+with. He was mentally incapable of co-operating in any way, you see."
+
+"Little Charlie?"
+
+"Charles O'Neill was the name of the telepath we worked with," Dr.
+O'Connor explained.
+
+"I remember," Malone said. The name had been on one of the tapes, but he
+just hadn't associated "Charles O'Neill" with "Little Charlie." He felt
+as if he'd been caught with his homework undone. "How did you manage to
+find him, anyway?" he said. Maybe, if he knew how Westinghouse had found
+their imbecile-telepath, he'd have some kind of clue that would enable
+him to find one, too. Anyhow, it was worth a try.
+
+"It wasn't difficult in Charlie's case," Dr. O'Connor said. He smiled.
+"The child babbled all the time, you see."
+
+"You mean he talked about being a telepath?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor shook his head impatiently. "No," he said. "Not at all. I
+mean that he babbled. Literally. Here: I've got a sample recording in my
+files." He got up from his chair and went to the tall gray filing
+cabinet that hid in a far corner of the pine-paneled room. From a drawer
+he extracted a spool of common audio tape, and returned to his desk.
+
+"I'm sorry we didn't get full video on this," he said, "but we didn't
+feel it was necessary." He opened a panel in the upper surface of the
+desk, and slipped the spool in. "If you like, there are other tapes--"
+
+"Maybe later," Malone said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. O'Connor nodded and pressed the playback switch at the side of the
+great desk. For a second the room was silent.
+
+Then there was the hiss of empty tape, and a brisk masculine voice that
+overrode it:
+
+"Westinghouse Laboratories," it said, "sixteen April nineteen-seventy.
+Dr. Walker speaking. The voice you are about to hear belongs to Charles
+O'Neill: chronological age fourteen years, three months; mental age,
+approximately five years. Further data on this case will be found in the
+file _O'Neill_."
+
+There was a slight pause, filled with more tape hiss.
+
+Then the voice began.
+
+"... push the switch for record ... in the park last Wednesday ... and
+perhaps a different set of ... poor kid never makes any sense in ...
+trees and leaves all sunny with the ... electronic components of the
+reducing stage might be ... not as predictable when others are around
+but ... to go with Sally some night in the...."
+
+It was a childish, alto voice, gabbling in a monotone. A phrase would be
+spoken, the voice would hesitate for just an instant, and then another,
+totally disconnected phrase would come. The enunciation and
+pronunciation would vary from phrase to phrase, but the tone remained
+essentially the same, drained of all emotional content.
+
+"... in receiving psychocerebral impulses there isn't any ... nonsense
+and nothing but nonsense all the ... tomorrow or maybe Saturday with the
+girl ... tube might be replaceable only if ... something ought to be
+done for the ... Saturday would be a good time for ... work on the
+schematics tonight if...."
+
+There was a click as the tape was turned off, and Dr. O'Connor looked
+up.
+
+"It doesn't make much sense," Malone said. "But the kid sure has a hell
+of a vocabulary for an imbecile."
+
+"Vocabulary?" Dr. O'Connor said softly.
+
+"That's right," Malone said. "Where'd an imbecile get words like
+'psychocerebral'? I don't think I know what that means, myself."
+
+"Ah," Dr. O'Connor said. "But that's not _his_ vocabulary, you see. What
+Charlie is doing is simply repeating the thoughts of those around him.
+He jumps from mind to mind, simply repeating whatever he receives." His
+face assumed the expression of a man remembering a bad taste in his
+mouth. "That's how we found him out, Mr. Malone," he said. "It's rather
+startling to look at a blithering idiot and have him suddenly repeat the
+very thought that's in your mind."
+
+Malone nodded unhappily. It didn't seem as if O'Connor's information was
+going to be a lot of help as far as catching a telepath was concerned.
+An imbecile, apparently, would give himself away if he were a telepath.
+But nobody else seemed to be likely to do that. And imbeciles didn't
+look like very good material for catching spies with.
+
+Then he brightened. "Is it possible that the spy we're looking for
+really isn't a spy?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"I mean, suppose he's an imbecile, too? I doubt whether an imbecile
+would really be a spy, if you see what I mean."
+
+Dr. O'Connor appeared to consider the notion. After a little while he
+said: "It is, I suppose, possible. But the readings on the machine don't
+give us the same timing as they did in Charlie's case--or even the same
+sort of timing."
+
+"I don't quite follow you," Malone said. Truthfully, he felt about three
+miles behind. But perhaps everything would clear up soon. He hoped so.
+On top of everything else, his feet were now hurting a lot more.
+
+"Perhaps if I describe one of the tests we ran," Dr. O'Connor said,
+"things will be somewhat clearer." He leaned back in his chair. Malone
+shifted his feet again and transferred his hat from his right hand to
+his left hand.
+
+"We put one of our test subjects in the insulated room," Dr. O'Connor
+said, "and connected him to the detector. He was to read from a book--a
+book that was not too common. This was, of course, to obviate the chance
+that some other person nearby might be reading it, or might have read it
+in the past. We picked 'The Blood is the Death,' by Hieronymus
+Melanchthon, which, as you may know, is a very rare book indeed."
+
+"Sure," Malone said. He had never heard of the book, but he was, after
+all, willing to take Dr. O'Connor's word for it.
+
+The telepathy expert went on: "Our test subject read it carefully,
+scanning rather than skimming. Cameras recorded the movements of his
+eyes in order for us to tell just what he was reading at any given
+moment, in order to correlate what was going on in his mind with the
+reactions of the machine's indicators, if you follow me."
+
+Malone nodded helplessly.
+
+"At the same time," Dr. O'Connor continued blithely, "we had Charlie in
+a nearby room, recording his babblings. Every so often, he would come
+out with quotations from 'The Blood is the Death,' and these quotations
+corresponded exactly with what our test subject was reading at the time,
+and also corresponded with the abnormal fluctuations of the detector."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. O'Connor paused. Something, Malone realized, was expected of him. He
+thought of several responses and chose one. "I see," he said.
+
+"But the important thing here," Dr. O'Connor said, "is the timing. You
+see, Charlie was incapable of continued concentration. He could not keep
+his mind focused on another mind for very long, before he hopped to
+still another. The actual amount of time concentrated on any given mind
+at any single given period varied from a minimum of one point three
+seconds to a maximum of two point six. The timing samples, when plotted
+graphically over a period of several months, formed a skewed bell curve
+with a mode at two point oh seconds."
+
+"Ah," Malone said, wondering if a skewed bell curve was the same thing
+as a belled skew curve, and if not, why not?
+
+"It was, in fact," Dr. O'Connor continued relentlessly, "a sudden
+variation in those timings which convinced us that there was another
+telepath somewhere in the vicinity. We were conducting a second set of
+reading experiments, in precisely the same manner as the first set, and,
+for the first part of the experiment, our figures were substantially the
+same. But--" He stopped.
+
+"Yes?" Malone said, shifting his feet and trying to take some weight off
+his left foot by standing on his right leg. Then he stood on his left
+leg. It didn't seem to do any good.
+
+"I should explain," Dr. O'Connor said, "that we were conducting this
+series with a new set of test subjects: some of the scientists here at
+Yucca Flats. We wanted to see if the intelligence quotients of the
+subjects affected the time of contact which Charlie was able to
+maintain. Naturally, we picked the men here with the highest IQ's, the
+two men we have who are in the top echelon of the creative genius
+class." He cleared his throat. "I did not include myself, of course,
+since I wished to remain an impartial observer, as much as possible."
+
+"Of course," Malone said without surprise.
+
+"The other two geniuses," Dr. O'Connor said, "happen to be connected
+with the project known as Project Isle--an operation whose function I
+neither know, nor care to know, anything at all about."
+
+Malone nodded. Project Isle was the non-rocket spaceship. Classified.
+Top Secret. Ultra-Secret. And, he thought, just about anything else you
+could think of.
+
+"At first," Dr. O'Connor was saying, "our detector recorded the time
+periods of ... ah mental invasion as being the same as before. Then, one
+day, anomalies began to appear. The detector showed that the minds of
+our subjects were being held for as long as two or three minutes. But
+the phrases repeated by Charlie during these periods showed that his own
+contact time remained the same; that is, they fell within the same
+skewed bell curve as before, and the mode remained constant if nothing
+but the phrase length were recorded."
+
+"Hm-m-m," Malone said, feeling that he ought to be saying something.
+
+Dr. O'Connor didn't notice him. "At first we thought of errors in the
+detector machine," he went on. "That worried us not somewhat, since our
+understanding of the detector is definitely limited at this time. We do
+feel that it would be possible to replace some of the electronic
+components with appropriate symbolization like that already used in the
+purely psionic sections, but we have, as yet, been unable to determine
+exactly which electronic components must be replaced by what symbolic
+components."
+
+Malone nodded, silently this time. He had the sudden feeling that Dr.
+O'Connor's flow of words had broken itself up into a vast sea of
+alphabet soup, and that he, Malone, was occupied in drowning in it.
+
+"However," Dr. O'Connor said, breaking what was left of Malone's train
+of thought, "young Charlie died soon thereafter, and we decided to go on
+checking the machine. It was during this period that we found someone
+else reading the minds of our test subjects--sometimes for a few
+seconds, sometimes for several minutes."
+
+"Aha," Malone said. Things were beginning to make sense again. _Someone
+else._ That, of course, was the spy.
+
+"I found," Dr. O'Connor said, "on interrogating the subjects more
+closely, that they were, in effect, thinking on two levels. They were
+reading the book mechanically, noting the words and sense, but simply
+shuttling the material directly into their memories without actually
+thinking about it. The actual thinking portions of their minds were
+concentrating on aspects of Project Isle."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"In other words," Malone said, "someone was spying on them for
+information about Project Isle?"
+
+"Precisely," Dr. O'Connor said with a frosty, teacher-to-student smile.
+"And whoever it was had a much higher concentration time than Charlie
+had ever attained. He seems to be able to retain contact as long as he
+can find useful information flowing in the mind being read."
+
+"Wait a minute," Malone said. "Wait a minute. If this spy is so clever,
+how come he didn't read _your_ mind?"
+
+"It is very likely that he has," O'Connor said. "What does that have to
+do with it?"
+
+"Well," Malone said, "if he knows you and your group are working on
+telepathy and can detect what he's doing, why didn't he just hold off on
+the minds of those geniuses when they were being tested in your
+machine?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor frowned. "I'm afraid that I can't be sure," he said, and it
+was clear from his tone that, if Dr. Thomas O'Connor wasn't sure, no one
+in the entire world was, had been, or ever would be. "I do have a
+theory, however," he said, brightening up a trifle.
+
+Malone waited patiently.
+
+"He must know our limitations," Dr. O'Connor said at last. "He must be
+perfectly well aware that there's not a single thing we can _do_ about
+him. He must know that we can neither find nor stop him. Why should he
+worry? He can afford to ignore us--or even bait us. We're helpless, and
+he knows it."
+
+That, Malone thought, was about the most cheerless thought he had heard
+in some time.
+
+"You mentioned that you had an insulated room," the FBI agent said
+after a while. "Couldn't you let your men think in there?"
+
+Dr. O'Connor sighed. "The room is shielded against magnetic fields and
+electromagnetic radiation. It is perfectly transparent to psionic
+phenomena, just as it is to gravitational fields."
+
+"Oh," Malone said. He realized rapidly that his question had been a
+little silly to begin with, since the insulated room had been the place
+where all the tests had been conducted in the first place. "I don't want
+to take up too much of your time, doctor," he said after a pause, "but
+there are a couple of other questions."
+
+"Go right ahead," Dr. O'Connor said. "I'm sure I'll be able to help
+you."
+
+Malone thought of mentioning how little help the doctor had been to
+date, but decided against it. Why antagonize a perfectly good scientist
+without any reason? Instead, he selected his first question, and asked
+it. "Have you got any idea how we might lay our hands on another
+telepath? Preferably one that's not an imbecile, of course."
+
+Dr. O Connor's expression changed from patient wisdom to irritation. "I
+wish we could, Mr. Malone. I wish we could. We certainly need one here
+to help us with our work--and I'm sure that _your_ work is important,
+too. But I'm afraid we have no ideas at all about finding another
+telepath. Finding little Charlie was purely fortuitous--purely, Mr.
+Malone, fortuitous."
+
+"Ah," Malone said. "Sure. Of course." He thought rapidly and discovered
+that he couldn't come up with one more question. As a matter of fact,
+he'd asked a couple of questions already, and he could barely remember
+the answers. "Well," he said, "I guess that's about it, then, doctor. If
+you come across anything else, be sure and let me know."
+
+He leaned across the desk, extending a hand. "And thanks for your time,"
+he added.
+
+Dr. O'Connor stood up and shook his hand. "No trouble, I assure you," he
+said. "And I'll certainly give you all the information I can."
+
+Malone turned and walked out. Surprisingly, he discovered that his feet
+and legs still worked. He had thought they'd turned to stone in the
+office long before.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on the plane back to Washington that Malone got his first inkling
+of an idea.
+
+The only telepath that the Westinghouse boys had been able to turn up
+was Charles O'Neill, the youthful imbecile.
+
+All right, then. Suppose there were another one like him. Imbeciles
+weren't very difficult to locate. Most of them would be in institutions,
+and the others would certainly be on record. It might be possible to
+find someone, anyway, who could be handled and used as a tool to find a
+telepathic spy.
+
+And--happy thought!--maybe one of them would turn out to be a
+high-grade imbecile, or even a moron.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Even if they only turned up another imbecile, he thought wearily, at
+least Dr. O'Connor would have something to work with.
+
+He reported back to Burris when he arrived in Washington, told him about
+the interview with Dr. O'Connor, and explained what had come to seem a
+rather feeble brainstorm.
+
+"It doesn't seem too productive," Burris said, with a shade of
+disappointment in his voice, "but we'll try it."
+
+At that, it was a better verdict than Malone had hoped for. He had
+nothing to do but wait, while orders went out to field agents all over
+the United States, and quietly, but efficiently, the FBI went to work.
+Agents probed and pried and poked their noses into the files and data
+sheets of every mental institution in the fifty states--as far, at any
+rate, as they were able.
+
+It was not an easy job. The inalienable right of a physician to refuse
+to disclose confidences respecting a patient applied even to idiots,
+imbeciles, and morons. Not even the FBI could open the private files of
+a licensed and registered psychiatrist.
+
+But the field agents did the best they could and, considering the
+circumstances, their best was pretty good.
+
+Malone, meanwhile, put in two weeks sitting glumly at his Washington
+desk and checking reports as they arrived. They were uniformly
+depressing. The United States of America contained more subnormal minds
+than Malone cared to think about. There seemed to be enough of them to
+explain the results of any election you were unhappy over.
+Unfortunately, subnormal was all you could call them. Not one of them
+appeared to possess any abnormal psionic abilities whatever.
+
+There were a couple who were reputed to be poltergeists--but in neither
+case was there a single shred of evidence to substantiate the claim.
+
+At the end of the second week, Malone was just about convinced that his
+idea had been a total washout. A full fortnight had been spent on
+digging up imbeciles, while the spy at Yucca Flats had been going right
+on his merry way, scooping information out of the men at Project Isle as
+though he were scooping beans out of a pot. And, very likely, laughing
+himself silly at the feeble efforts of the FBI.
+
+Who could he be?
+
+_Anyone_, Malone told himself unhappily. _Anyone at all._ He could be
+the janitor that swept out the buildings, one of the guards at the gate,
+one of the minor technicians on another project, or even some old
+prospector wandering around the desert with a scintillation counter.
+
+Is there any limit to telepathic range?
+
+The spy could even be sitting quietly in an armchair in the Kremlin,
+probing through several thousand miles of solid earth to peep into the
+brains of the men on Project Isle.
+
+That was, to say the very least, a depressing idea.
+
+Malone found he had to assume that the spy was in the United
+States--that, in other words, there was some effective range to
+telepathic communication. Otherwise, there was no point in bothering to
+continue the search.
+
+Therefore, he found one other thing to do. He alerted every agent to the
+job of discovering how the spy was getting his information out of the
+country.
+
+He doubted that it would turn up anything, but it was a chance. And
+Malone hoped desperately for it, because he was beginning to be sure
+that the field agents were never going to turn up any telepathic
+imbeciles.
+
+He was right.
+
+They never did.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The telephone rang.
+
+Malone rolled over on the couch and muttered under his breath. Was it
+absolutely necessary for someone to call him at seven in the morning?
+
+He grabbed at the receiver with one hand, and picked up his cigar from
+the ashtray with the other. It was bad enough to be awakened from a
+sound sleep--but when a man hadn't been sleeping at all, it was even
+worse.
+
+He'd been sitting up since before five that morning, worrying about the
+telepathic spy, and at the moment he wanted sleep more than he wanted
+phone calls.
+
+"Gur?" he said, sleepily and angrily, thankful that he'd never had a
+visiphone installed in his apartment.
+
+A feminine voice said: "Mr. Kenneth J. Malone?"
+
+"Who's this?" Malone said peevishly, beginning to discover himself
+capable of semirational English speech.
+
+"Long distance from San Francisco," the voice said.
+
+"It certainly is," Malone said. "Who's calling?"
+
+"San Francisco is calling," the voice said primly.
+
+Malone repressed a desire to tell the voice off, and said instead:
+"_Who_ in San Francisco?"
+
+There was a momentary hiatus, and then the voice said: "Mr. Thomas Boyd
+is calling, sir. He says this is a scramble call."
+
+Malone took a drag from his cigar and closed his eyes. Obviously the
+call was a scramble. If it had been clear, the man would have dialed
+direct, instead of going through what Malone now recognized as an
+operator.
+
+"Mr. Boyd says he is the Agent-in-Charge of the San Francisco office of
+the FBI," the voice offered.
+
+"And quite right, too," Malone told her. "All right. Put him on."
+
+"One moment." There was a pause, a click, another pause and then another
+click. At last the operator said: "Your party is ready, sir."
+
+Then there was still another pause. Malone stared at the audio receiver.
+He began to whistle "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hello? Malone?"
+
+"I'm here, Tom," Malone said guiltily. "This is me. What's the trouble?"
+
+"Trouble?" Boyd said. "There isn't any trouble. Well, not really. Or
+maybe it is. I don't know."
+
+Malone scowled at the audio receiver, and for the first time wished he
+had gone ahead and had a video circuit put in, so that Boyd could see
+the horrendous expression on his face.
+
+"Look," he said. "It's seven here and that's too early. Out there, it's
+four, and that's practically ridiculous. What's so important?"
+
+He knew perfectly well that Boyd wasn't calling him just for the fun of
+it. The man was a good agent. But why a call at this hour?
+
+Malone muttered under his breath. Then, self-consciously, he squashed
+out his cigar and lit a cigarette while Boyd was saying: "Ken, I think
+we may have found what you've been looking for."
+
+It wasn't safe to say too much, even over a scrambled circuit. But
+Malone got the message without difficulty.
+
+"Yeah?" he said, sitting up on the edge of the couch. "You sure?"
+
+"Well," Boyd said, "no. Not absolutely sure. Not absolutely. But it is
+worth your taking a personal look, I think."
+
+"Ah," Malone said cautiously. "An imbecile?"
+
+"No," Boyd said flatly. "Not an imbecile. Definitely not an imbecile. As
+a matter of fact, a hell of a fat long way from an imbecile."
+
+Malone glanced at his watch and skimmed over the airline timetables in
+his mind. "I'll be there nine o'clock, your time," he said. "Have a car
+waiting for me at the field."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As usual, Malone managed to sleep better on the plane than he'd been
+able to do at home. He slept so well, in fact, that he was still groggy
+when he stepped into the waiting car.
+
+"Good to see you, Ken," Boyd said briskly, as he shook Malone's hand.
+
+"You, too, Tom," Malone said sleepily. "Now what's all this about?" He
+looked around apprehensively. "No bugs in this car, I hope?" he said.
+
+Boyd gunned the motor and headed toward the San Francisco Freeway.
+"Better not be," he said, "or I'll fire me a technician or two."
+
+"Well, then," Malone said, relaxing against the upholstery, "where is
+this guy, and who is he? And how did you find him?"
+
+Boyd looked uncomfortable. It was, somehow, both an awe-inspiring and a
+slightly risible sight. Six feet one and one half inches tall in his
+flat feet, Boyd ported around over two hundred and twenty pounds of
+bone, flesh and muscle. He swung a potbelly of startling proportions
+under the silk shirting he wore, and his face, with its wide nose, small
+eyes and high forehead, was half highly mature, half startlingly
+childlike. In an apparent effort to erase those childlike qualities,
+Boyd sported a fringe of beard and a mustache which reminded Malone of
+somebody he couldn't quite place.
+
+But whoever the somebody was, his hair hadn't been black, as Boyd's
+was--
+
+He decided it didn't make any difference. Anyhow, Boyd was speaking.
+
+"In the first place," he said, "it isn't a guy. In the second, I'm not
+exactly sure who it is. And in the third, Ken, I didn't find it."
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"Don't tell me," Malone said. "It's a telepathic horse, isn't it? Tom, I
+just don't think I could stand a telepathic horse--"
+
+"No," Boyd said hastily. "No. Not at all. No horse. It's a dame. I mean
+a lady." He looked away from the road and flashed a glance at Malone.
+His eyes seemed to be pleading for something--understanding, possibly,
+Malone thought. "Frankly," Boyd said, "I'd rather not tell you anything
+about her just yet. I'd rather you met her first. Then you could make up
+your own mind. All right?"
+
+"All right," Malone said wearily. "Do it your own way. How far do we
+have to go?"
+
+"Just about an hour's drive," Boyd said. "That's all."
+
+Malone slumped back in the seat and pushed his hat over his eyes.
+"Fine," he said. "Suppose you wake me up when we get there."
+
+But, groggy as he was, he couldn't sleep. He wished he'd had some coffee
+on the plane. Maybe it would have made him feel better.
+
+Then again, coffee was only coffee. True, he had never acquired his
+father's taste for gin, but there was always bourbon.
+
+He thought about bourbon for a few minutes. It was a nice thought. It
+warmed him and made him feel a lot better. After a while, he even felt
+awake enough to do some talking.
+
+He pushed his hat back and struggled to a reasonable sitting position.
+"I don't suppose you have a drink hidden away in the car somewhere?" he
+said tentatively. "Or would the technicians have found that, too?"
+
+"Better not have," Boyd said in the same tone as before, "or I'll fire a
+couple of technicians." He grinned without turning. "It's in the door
+compartment, next to the forty-five cartridges and the Tommy gun."
+
+Malone opened the compartment in the thick door of the car and extracted
+a bottle. It was brandy instead of the bourbon he had been thinking
+about, but he discovered that he didn't mind at all. It went down as
+smoothly as milk.
+
+Boyd glanced at it momentarily as Malone screwed the top back on.
+
+"No," Malone said in answer to the unspoken question. "You're driving."
+Then he settled back again and tipped his hat forward.
+
+He didn't sleep a wink. He was perfectly sure of that. But it wasn't
+over two seconds later that Boyd said: "We're here, Ken. Wake up."
+
+"Whadyamean, wakeup," Malone said. "I wasn't asleep." He thumbed his hat
+back and sat up rapidly. "Where's 'here'?"
+
+"Bayview Neuropsychiatric Hospital," Boyd said. "This is where Dr.
+Harman works, you know."
+
+"No," Malone said. "As a matter of fact, I don't know. You didn't tell
+me--remember? And who is Dr. Harman, anyhow?"
+
+The car was moving up a long, curving driveway toward a large,
+lawn-surrounded building. Boyd spoke without looking away from the road.
+
+"Well," he said, "this Dr. Willard Harman is the man who phoned us
+yesterday. One of my field agents was out here asking around about
+imbeciles and so on. Found nothing, by the way. And then this Dr. Harman
+called, later. Said he had someone here I might be interested in. So I
+came on out myself for a look, yesterday afternoon ... after all, we had
+instructions to follow up every possible lead."
+
+"I know," Malone said. "I wrote them."
+
+"Oh," Boyd said. "Sure. Well, anyhow, I talked to this dame. Lady."
+
+"And?"
+
+"And I talked to her," Boyd said. "I'm not entirely sure of anything
+myself. But ... well, hell. You take a look at her."
+
+He pulled the car up to a parking space, slid nonchalantly into a slot
+marked _Reserved--Executive Director Sutton_, and slid out from under
+the wheel while Malone got out the other side.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They marched up the broad steps, through the doorway and into the
+glass-fronted office of the receptionist.
+
+Boyd showed her his little golden badge, and got an appropriate gasp.
+"FBI," he said. "Dr. Harman's expecting us."
+
+The wait wasn't over fifteen seconds. Boyd and Malone marched down the
+hall and around a couple of corners, and came to the doctor's office.
+The door was opaqued glass with nothing but a room number stenciled on
+it. Without ceremony, Boyd pushed the door open. Malone followed him
+inside.
+
+The office was small but sunny. Dr. Willard Harman sat behind a
+blond-wood desk, a chunky little man with crew-cut blond hair and
+rimless eyeglasses, who looked about thirty-two and couldn't possibly,
+Malone thought, have been anywhere near that young. On a second look,
+Malone noticed a better age indication in the eyes and forehead, and
+revised his first guess upward between ten and fifteen years.
+
+"Come in, gentlemen," Dr. Harman boomed. His voice was that rarity, a
+really loud high tenor.
+
+"Dr. Harman," Boyd said, "this is my superior, Mr. Malone. We'd like to
+have a talk with Miss Thompson."
+
+"I anticipated that, sir," Dr. Harman said. "Miss Thompson is in the
+next room. Have you explained to Mr. Malone that--"
+
+"I haven't explained a thing," Boyd said quickly, and added in what was
+obviously intended to be a casual tone: "Mr. Malone wants to get a
+picture of Miss Thompson directly--without any preconceptions."
+
+"I see," Dr. Harman said. "Very well, gentlemen. Through this door."
+
+He opened the door in the right-hand wall of the room, and Malone took
+one look. It was a long, long look. Standing framed in the doorway,
+dressed in the starched white of a nurse's uniform, was the most
+beautiful blonde he had ever seen.
+
+She had curves. She definitely had curves. As a matter of fact, Malone
+didn't really think he had ever seen curves before. These were something
+new and different and truly three-dimensional. But it wasn't the curves,
+or the long straight lines of her legs, or the quiet beauty of her face,
+that made her so special. After all, Malone had seen legs and bodies and
+faces before.
+
+At least, he thought he had. Off-hand, he couldn't remember where.
+Looking at the girl, Malone was ready to write brand-new definitions for
+every anatomical term. Even a term like "hands." Malone had never seen
+anything especially arousing in the human hand before--anyway, not when
+the hand was just lying around, so to speak, attached to its wrist but
+not doing anything in particular. But these hands, long, slender and
+tapering, white and cool-looking....
+
+And yet, it wasn't just the sheer physical beauty of the girl. She had
+something else, something more and something different. (_Something
+borrowed_, Malone thought in a semi-delirious haze, _and something
+blue_.) Personality? Character? Soul?
+
+Whatever it was, Malone decided, this girl had it. She had enough of it
+to supply the entire human race, and any others that might exist in the
+Universe. Malone smiled at the girl and she smiled back.
+
+After seeing the smile, Malone wasn't sure he could still walk evenly.
+Somehow, though, he managed to go over to her and extend his hand. The
+notion that a telepath would turn out to be this mind-searing Epitome
+had never crossed his mind, but now, somehow, it seemed perfectly
+fitting and proper.
+
+"Good morning, Miss Thompson," he said in what he hoped was a winning
+voice.
+
+The smile disappeared. It was like the sun going out.
+
+The vision appeared to be troubled. Malone was about to volunteer his
+help--if necessary, for the next seventy years--when she spoke.
+
+"I'm not Miss Thompson," she said.
+
+"This is one of our nurses," Dr. Harman put in. "Miss Wilson, Mr.
+Malone. And Mr. Boyd. Miss Thompson, gentlemen, is over there."
+
+Malone turned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There, in a corner of the room, an old lady sat. She was a small old
+lady, with apple-red cheeks and twinkling eyes. She held some knitting
+in her hands, and she smiled up at the FBI men as if they were her
+grandsons come for tea and cookies, of a Sunday afternoon.
+
+She had snow-white hair that shone like a crown around her old head in
+the lights of the room. Malone blinked at her. She didn't disappear.
+
+"_You're_ Miss Thompson?" he said.
+
+She smiled sweetly. "Oh, my, no," she said.
+
+There was a long silence. Malone looked at her. Then he looked at the
+unbelievably beautiful Miss Wilson. Then he looked at Dr. Harman. And,
+at last, he looked at Boyd.
+
+"All right," he said. "I get it. _You're_ Miss Thompson."
+
+"Now, wait a minute, Malone," Boyd began.
+
+"Wait a minute?" Malone said. "There are four people here, not counting
+me. I know I'm not Miss Thompson. I never was, not even as a child. And
+Dr. Harman isn't, and Miss Wilson isn't, and Whistler's
+Great-Grandmother isn't, either. So you must be. Unless she isn't here.
+Or unless she's invisible. Or unless I'm crazy."
+
+"It isn't _you_, Malone," Boyd said.
+
+"What isn't me?"
+
+"That's crazy," Boyd said.
+
+"O.K.," Malone said. "I'm not crazy. Then will somebody please tell
+me--"
+
+The little old lady cleared her throat. A silence fell. When it was
+complete she spoke, and her voice was as sweet and kindly as anything
+Malone had ever heard.
+
+"You may call me Miss Thompson," she said. "For the present, at any
+rate. They all do here. It's a pseudonym I have to use."
+
+"A pseudonym?" Malone said.
+
+"You see, Mr. Malone," Miss Wilson began.
+
+Malone stopped her. "Don't talk," he said. "I have to concentrate and if
+you talk I can barely think." He took off his hat suddenly, and began
+twisting the brim in his hands. "You understand, don't you?"
+
+The trace of a smile appeared on her face. "I think I do," she said.
+
+"Now," Malone said, "you're Miss Thompson, but not really, because you
+have to use a pseudonym." He blinked at the little old lady. "Why?"
+
+"Well," she said, "otherwise people would find out about my little
+secret."
+
+"Your little secret," Malone said.
+
+"That's right," the little old lady said. "I'm immortal, you see."
+
+Malone said: "Oh." Then he kept quiet for a long time. It didn't seem to
+him that anyone in the room was breathing.
+
+He said: "Oh," again, but it didn't sound any better than it had the
+first time. He tried another phrase. "You're immortal," he said.
+
+"That's right," the little old lady agreed sweetly.
+
+There was only one other question to ask, and Malone set his teeth
+grimly and asked it. It came out just a trifle indistinct, but the
+little old lady nodded.
+
+"My real name?" she said. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Tudor, of course. I used
+to be Queen."
+
+"Of England," Malone said faintly.
+
+"Malone, look--" Boyd began.
+
+"Let me get it all at once," Malone told him. "I'm strong. I can take
+it." He twisted his hat again and turned back to the little old lady.
+
+"You're immortal, and you're not really Miss Thompson, but Queen
+Elizabeth I?" he said slowly.
+
+"That's right," she said. "How clever of you. Of course, after little
+Jimmy--cousin Mary's boy, I mean--said I was dead and claimed the
+Throne, I decided to change my name and all. And that's what I did. But
+I am Elizabeth Regina." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled merrily.
+Malone stared at her for a long minute.
+
+_Burris_, he thought, _is going to love this_.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad," the little old lady said. "Do you really think he
+will? Because I'm sure I'll like your Mr. Burris, too. All of you FBI
+men are so charming. Just like poor, poor Essex."
+
+Well, Malone told himself, that was that. He'd found himself a telepath.
+
+And she wasn't an imbecile.
+
+Oh, no. That would have been simple.
+
+Instead, she was battier than a cathedral spire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The long silence was broken by the voice of Miss Wilson.
+
+"Mr. Malone," she said, "you've been thinking." She stopped. "I mean,
+you've been so quiet."
+
+"I like being quiet," Malone said patiently. "Besides--" He stopped and
+turned to the little old lady. _Can you really read my mind?_ he thought
+deliberately. After a second he added: _... your majesty?_
+
+"How sweet of you, Mr. Malone," she said. "Nobody's called me that for
+centuries. But of course I can. Although it's not reading, really. After
+all, that would be like asking if I can read your voice. Of course I
+can, Mr. Malone."
+
+"That does it," Malone said. "I'm not a hard man to convince. And when I
+see the truth, I'm the first one to admit it, even if it makes me look
+like a nut." He turned back to the little old lady. "Begging your
+pardon," he said.
+
+"Oh, my," the little old lady said. "I really don't mind at all. Sticks
+and stones, you know, can break my bones. But being called nuts, Mr.
+Malone, can never hurt me. After all, it's been so many years--so many
+hundreds of years--"
+
+"Sure," Malone said easily.
+
+Boyd broke in. "Listen, Malone," he said, "do you mind telling me what
+is going on?"
+
+"It's very simple," Malone said. "Miss Thompson here ... pardon me; I
+mean Queen Elizabeth I ... really is a telepath. That's all. I think I
+want to lie down somewhere until it goes away."
+
+"Until what goes away?" Miss Wilson said.
+
+Malone stared at her almost without seeing her, if not quite.
+"Everything," he said. He closed his eyes.
+
+"My goodness," the little old lady said after a second. "Everything's so
+confused. Poor Mr. Malone is terribly shaken up by everything." She
+stood up, still holding her knitting, and went across the room. Before
+the astonished eyes of the doctor and nurse, and Tom Boyd, she patted
+the FBI agent on the shoulder. "There, there, Mr. Malone," she said. "It
+will all be perfectly all right. You'll see." Then she returned to her
+seat.
+
+Malone opened his eyes. He turned to Dr. Harman. "You called up Boyd
+here," he said, "and told him that ... er ... Miss Thompson was a
+telepath. Howd' you know?"
+
+"It's all right," the little old lady put in from her chair. "I don't
+mind your calling me Miss Thompson, not right now, anyhow."
+
+"Thanks," Malone said faintly.
+
+Dr. Harman was blinking in a kind of befuddled astonishment. "You mean
+she really _is_ a--" He stopped and brought his tenor voice to a
+squeaking halt, regained his professional poise, and began again. "I'd
+rather not discuss the patient in her presence, Mr. Malone," he said.
+"If you'll just come into my office--"
+
+"Oh, _bosh_, Dr. Harman," the little old lady said primly. "I do wish
+you'd give your own Queen credit for some ability. Goodness knows you
+think _you're_ smart enough."
+
+"Now, now, Miss Thompson," he said in what was obviously his best Grade
+A Choice Government Inspected couchside manner. "Don't...."
+
+"... Upset yourself," she finished for him. "Now, really, doctor. I know
+what you're going to tell them."
+
+"But Miss Thompson, I--"
+
+"You didn't honestly think I _was_ a telepath," the little old lady
+said. "Heavens, we know that. And you're going to tell them how I used
+to say I could read minds ... oh, years and years ago. And because of
+that you thought it might be worth while to tell the FBI about me--which
+wasn't very kind of you, doctor, before you knew anything about why they
+wanted somebody like me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Now, now, Miss Thompson," Miss Wilson said, walking across the room to
+put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. Malone wished for one
+brief second that he were the old little old lady. Maybe if he were a
+patient in the hospital he would get the same treatment.
+
+He wondered if he could possibly work such a deal.
+
+Then he wondered if it would be worth while, being nuts. But of course
+it would. He was nuts anyhow, wasn't he?
+
+Sure, he told himself. They were all nuts.
+
+"Nobody's going to hurt you," Miss Wilson said. She was talking to the
+old lady. "You'll be perfectly all right and you don't have to worry
+about a thing."
+
+"Oh, yes, dear, I know that," the little old lady said. "You only want
+to help me, dear. You're so kind. And these FBI men really don't mean
+any harm. But Dr. Harman didn't know that. He just thinks I'm crazy and
+that's all."
+
+"Please, Miss Thompson--" Dr. Harman began.
+
+"Just crazy, that's all," the little old lady said. She turned away for
+a second and nobody said anything. Then she turned back. "Do you all
+know what he's thinking now?" she said. Dr. Harman turned a dull purple,
+but she ignored him. "He's wondering why I didn't take the trouble to
+prove all this to you years ago. And besides that, he's thinking
+about--"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Miss Thompson," Dr. Harman said. His bedside manner had cracked through
+and his voice was harsh and strained. "Please."
+
+"Oh, all right," she said, a little petulantly. "If you want to keep all
+that private."
+
+Malone broke in suddenly, fascinated. "Why didn't you prove you were
+telepathic before now?" he said.
+
+The little old lady smiled at him. "Why, because you wouldn't have
+believed me," she said. She dropped her knitting neatly in her lap and
+folded her hands over it. "None of you _wanted_ to believe me," she
+said, and sniffed. Miss Wilson moved nervously and she looked up. "And
+don't tell me it's going to be all right. I know it's going to be all
+right. I'm going to make sure of that."
+
+Malone felt a sudden chill. But it was obvious, he told himself, that
+the little old lady didn't mean what she was saying. She smiled at him
+again, and her smile was as sweet and guileless as the smile on the face
+of his very own sainted grandmother.
+
+Not that Malone remembered his grandmother; she had died before he'd
+been born. But if he'd had a grandmother, and if he'd remembered her, he
+was sure she would have had the same sweet smile.
+
+So she couldn't have meant what she'd said. Would Malone's own
+grandmother make things difficult for him? The very idea was ridiculous.
+
+Dr. Harman opened his mouth, apparently changed his mind, and shut it
+again. The little old lady turned to him.
+
+"Were you going to ask why I bothered to prove anything to Mr. Malone?"
+she said. "Of course you were, and I shall tell you. It's because Mr.
+Malone _wanted_ to believe me. He _wants_ me. He _needs_ me. I'm a
+telepath, and that's enough for Mr. Malone. Isn't it?"
+
+"Gur," Malone said, taken by surprise. After a second he added: "I guess
+so."
+
+"You see, doctor?" the little old lady said.
+
+"But you--" Dr. Harman began.
+
+"I read minds," the little old lady said. "That's right, doctor. That's
+what makes me a telepath."
+
+Malone's brain was whirling rapidly, like a distant galaxy. "Telepath"
+was a nice word, he thought. How did you telepath from a road?
+
+Simple.
+
+A road is paved.
+
+Malone thought that was pretty funny, but he didn't laugh. He thought he
+would never laugh again. He wanted to cry, a little, but he didn't think
+he'd be able to manage that either.
+
+He twisted his hat, but it didn't make him feel any better. Gradually,
+he became aware that the little old lady was talking to Dr. Harman
+again.
+
+"But," she said, "since it will make you feel so much better, doctor, we
+give you our Royal permission to retire, and to speak to Mr. Malone
+alone."
+
+"Malone alone," Dr. Harman muttered. "Hm-m-m. My. Well." He turned and
+seemed to be surprised that Malone was actually standing near him.
+"Yes," he said. "Well. Mr. Alone ... Malone ... please, whoever you are,
+just come into my office, please?"
+
+Malone looked at the little old lady. One of her eyes closed and opened.
+It was an unmistakable wink.
+
+Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. "All
+right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned with the
+barest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him. Leaving the little old
+lady and, unfortunately, the startling Miss Wilson, behind, the
+procession filed back into Dr. Harman's office.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. He
+looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the world was
+square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even.
+
+"Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicated chairs. "I really ...
+well, I don't know what to say. All this time, all these years, she's
+been reading my mind! My mind. She's been reading ... looking right into
+my mind, or whatever it is."
+
+"Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had dropped
+gratefully into a chair near Boyd's, across the desk from Dr. Harman.
+
+"Whatever my _mind_ is," Dr. Harman said. "Reading it. Oh, my."
+
+"Dr. Harman," Malone began, but the psychiatrist gave him a bright blank
+stare.
+
+"Don't you understand?" he said. "She's a telepath."
+
+"We--"
+
+The phone on Dr. Harman's desk chimed gently. He glanced at it and said:
+"Excuse me. The phone." He picked up the receiver and said: "Hello?"
+
+There was no image on the screen.
+
+But the voice was image enough. "This is Andrew J. Burris," it said. "Is
+Kenneth J. Malone there?"
+
+"Mr. Malone?" the psychiatrist said. "I mean, Mr. Burris? Mr. Malone is
+here. Yes. Oh, my. Do you want to talk to him?"
+
+"No, you idiot," the voice said. "I just want to know if he's all tucked
+in."
+
+"Tucked in?" Dr. Harman gave the phone a sudden smile. "A joke," he
+said. "It _is_ a joke, isn't it? The way things have been happening, you
+never know whether--"
+
+"A joke," Burris' voice said. "That's right. Yes. Am I talking to one of
+the patients?"
+
+Dr. Harman gulped, got mad, and thought better of it. At last he said,
+very gently: "I'm not at all sure," and handed the phone to Malone.
+
+The FBI agent said: "Hello, chief. Things are a little confused."
+
+Burris' face appeared on the screen. "Confused, sure," he said. "I feel
+confused already." He took a breath. "I called the San Francisco office,
+and they told me you and Boyd were out there. What's going on?"
+
+Malone said cautiously: "We've found a telepath."
+
+Burris' eyes widened slightly. "Another one?"
+
+"What are you talking about, another one?" Malone said. "We have one.
+Does anybody else have any more?"
+
+"Well," Burris said, "we just got a report on another one--maybe.
+Besides yours, I mean."
+
+"I hope the one you've got is in better shape than the one I've got,"
+Malone said. He took a deep breath, and then spat it all out at once:
+"The one we've found is a little old lady. She thinks she's Queen
+Elizabeth I. She's a telepath, sure, but she's nuts."
+
+"Queen Elizabeth?" Burris said. "Of England?"
+
+"That's right," Malone said. He held his breath.
+
+"Damn it," Burris exploded, "they've already got one."
+
+Malone sighed. "This is another one," he said. "Or, rather, the original
+one. She also claims she's immortal."
+
+"Lives forever?" Burris said. "You mean like that?"
+
+"Immortal," Malone said. "Right."
+
+Burris nodded. Then he looked worried. "Tell me, Malone," he said. "She
+_isn't_, is she?"
+
+"Isn't immortal, you mean?" Malone said. Burris nodded. Malone said
+confidently: "Of course not."
+
+There was a little pause. Malone thought things over.
+
+Hell, maybe she was immortal. Stranger things had happened, hadn't they?
+
+He looked over at Dr. Harman. "How about that?" he said. "Could she be
+immortal?"
+
+The psychiatrist shook his head decisively. "She's been here for over
+forty years, Mr. Malone, ever since her late teens. Her records show all
+that, and her birth certificate is in perfect order. Not a chance."
+
+Malone sighed and turned back to the phone. "Of course she isn't
+immortal, chief," he said. "She couldn't be. Nobody is. Just a nut."
+
+"I was afraid of that," Burris said.
+
+"Afraid?" Malone said.
+
+Burris nodded. "We've got another one--if he checks out," he said.
+"Right here in Washington--St. Elizabeths."
+
+"Another nut?"
+
+"Strait-jacket case," Burris said. "Delusions of persecution. Paranoia.
+And a lot of other things I can't pronounce. But I'm sending him on out
+to Yucca Flats anyhow, under guard. You might find a use for him."
+
+"Oh, sure," Malone said.
+
+"We can't afford to overlook a thing," Burris said.
+
+Malone sighed. "I know," he said. "But all the same--"
+
+"Don't worry about a thing, Malone," Burris said with a palpably false
+air of confidence. "You get this Queen Elizabeth of yours out of there
+and take her to Yucca Flats, too."
+
+Malone considered the possibilities. Maybe they would find more
+telepaths. Maybe all the telepaths would be nuts. It didn't seem
+unlikely. Imagine having a talent that nobody would believe you had. It
+might very easily drive you crazy to be faced with a situation like
+that.
+
+And there they would be in Yucca Flats. Kenneth J. Malone, and a
+convention of looney-bin inhabitants.
+
+Fun!
+
+Malone began to wonder why he had gone into FBI work in the first place.
+
+"Listen, chief," he said. "I--"
+
+"Sure, I understand," Burris said quickly. "She's batty. But what else
+can we do? Malone, don't do anything you'll regret."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I mean, don't resign."
+
+"Chief, how did you know--you're not telepathic too, are you?"
+
+"Of course not," Burris said. "But that's what I would do in your place.
+And don't do it."
+
+"Look, chief," Malone said. "These nuts--"
+
+"Malone, you've done a wonderful job so far," Burris said. "You'll get a
+raise and a better job when all this is over. Who else would have
+thought of looking in the twitch-bins for telepaths? But you did,
+Malone, and I'm proud of you, and you're stuck with it. We've got to use
+them now. We have to find that spy!" He took a breath. "On to Yucca
+Flats!" he said.
+
+Malone gave up. "Yes, sir," he said. "Anything else?"
+
+"Not right now," Burris said. "If there is, I'll let you know."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone hung up unhappily as the image vanished. He looked at Dr. Harman.
+"Well," he said, "that's that. What do I have to do to get a release for
+Miss Thompson?"
+
+Harman stared at him. "But, Mr. Malone," he said, "that just isn't
+possible. Really. Miss Thompson is a ward of the state, and we couldn't
+possibly allow her release without a court order."
+
+Malone thought that over. "O.K.," he said at last. "I can see that." He
+turned to Boyd. "Here's a job for you, Tom," he said. "Get one of the
+judges on the phone. You'll know which one will do us the most good,
+fastest."
+
+"Hm-m-m," Boyd said. "Say Judge Dunning," he said. "Good man. Fast
+worker."
+
+"I don't care who," Malone said. "Just get going, and get us a release
+for Miss Thompson." He turned back to the doctor. "By the way," he said,
+"has she got any other name? Besides Elizabeth Tudor, I mean," he added
+hurriedly.
+
+"Her full name," Dr. Harman said, "is Rose Walker Thompson. She is not
+Queen Elizabeth I, II, or XXVIII, and she is not immortal."
+
+"But she is," Malone pointed out, "a telepath. And that's why I want
+her."
+
+"She may," Dr. Harman said, "be a telepath." It was obvious that he had
+partly managed to forget the disturbing incidents that had happened a
+few minutes before. "I don't even want to discuss that part of it."
+
+"O.K., never mind it," Malone said agreeably. "Tom, get us a court order
+for Rose Walker Thompson. Effective yesterday--day before, if possible."
+
+Boyd nodded, but before he could get to the phone Dr. Harman spoke
+again.
+
+"Now, wait a moment, gentlemen," he said. "Court order or no court
+order, Miss Thompson is definitely not a well woman, and I can't see my
+way clear to--"
+
+"I'm not well myself," Malone said. "I need sleep and I probably have a
+cold. But I've got to work for the national security, and--"
+
+"This is important," Boyd put in.
+
+"I don't dispute that," Dr. Harman said. "Nevertheless, I--"
+
+The door that led into the other room suddenly burst open. The three men
+turned to stare at Miss Wilson, who stood in the doorway for a long
+second and then stepped into the office, closing the door quietly behind
+her.
+
+"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said.
+
+"Not at all," Malone said. "It's a pleasure to have you. Come again
+soon." He smiled at her.
+
+She didn't smile back. "Doctor," she said, "you better talk to Miss
+Thompson. I'm not at all sure what I can do. It's something new."
+
+"New?" he said. The worry lines on his face were increasing, but he
+spoke softly.
+
+"The poor dear thinks she's going to get out of the hospital now," Miss
+Wilson said. "For some reason, she's convinced that the FBI is going to
+get her released, and--"
+
+As she saw the expressions on three faces, she stopped.
+
+"What's wrong?" she said.
+
+"Miss Wilson," Malone said, "we ... may I call you by your first name?"
+
+"Of course, Mr. Malone," she said.
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"Miss Wilson," Malone said, "what _is_ your first name?"
+
+She smiled now, very gently. Malone wanted to walk through mountains, or
+climb fire. He felt confused, but wonderful. "Barbara," she said.
+
+"Lovely," he said. "Well, Barbara ... and please call me Ken. It's short
+for Kenneth."
+
+The smile on her face broadened. "I thought it might be," she said.
+
+"Well," Malone said softly, "it is. Kenneth. That's my name. And you're
+Barbara."
+
+Boyd cleared his throat.
+
+"Ah," Malone said. "Yes. Of course. Well, Barbara ... well, that's just
+what we intend to do. Take Miss Thompson away. We need her--badly."
+
+Dr. Harman had said nothing at all, and had barely moved. He was staring
+at a point on his desk. "She couldn't possibly have heard us," he
+muttered. "That's a soundproof door. She couldn't have heard us."
+
+"But you can't take Miss Thompson away," Miss Wilson said.
+
+"We have to, Barbara," Malone said gently. "Try to understand. It's for
+the national security."
+
+"She heard us thinking," Dr. Harman muttered. "That's what; she heard us
+thinking. Behind a soundproof door. She can see inside their minds. She
+can even see inside _my_ mind."
+
+"She's a sick woman," Barbara said.
+
+"But you have to understand--"
+
+"Vital necessity," Boyd put in. "Absolutely vital."
+
+"Nevertheless--" Barbara said.
+
+"She can read minds," Dr. Harman whispered in an awed tone. "She knows.
+Everything. She _knows_."
+
+"It's out of the question," Barbara said. "Whether you like it or not.
+Miss Thompson is not going to leave this hospital. Why, what could she
+do outside these walls? She hasn't left in over forty years! And
+furthermore, Mr. Malone--"
+
+"Kenneth," Malone put in, as the door opened again. "I mean Ken."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little old lady put her haloed head into the room. "Now, now,
+Barbara," she said. "Don't you go spoiling things. Just let these nice
+men take me away and everything will be fine, believe me. Besides, I've
+been outside more often than you imagine."
+
+"Outside?" Barbara said.
+
+"Of course," the little old lady said. "In other people's minds. Even
+yours. I remember that nice young man ... what was his name?"
+
+"Never mind his name," Barbara said, flushing furiously.
+
+Malone felt instantly jealous of every nice young man he had ever even
+heard of. _He_ wasn't a nice young man; he was an FBI agent, and he
+liked to drink and smoke cigars and carouse.
+
+All nice young men, he decided, should be turned into ugly old men as
+soon as possible. That'd fix them!
+
+He noticed the little old lady smiling at him, and tried to change his
+thoughts rapidly. But the little old lady said nothing at all.
+
+"At any rate," Barbara said, "I'm afraid that we just can't--"
+
+Dr. Harman cleared his throat imperiously. It was a most impressive
+noise, and everyone turned to look at him. His face was a little gray,
+but he looked, otherwise, like a rather pudgy, blond, crew-cut Roman
+emperor.
+
+"Just a moment," he said with dignity, "I think you're doing the United
+States of America a grave injustice, Miss Wilson--and that you're doing
+an injustice to Miss Thompson, too."
+
+"What do you mean?" she said.
+
+"I think it would be nice for her to get away from me--I mean from
+here," the psychiatrist said. "Where did you say you were taking her?"
+he asked Malone.
+
+"Yucca Flats," Malone said.
+
+"Ah." The news seemed to please the psychiatrist. "That's a long
+distance from here, isn't it? It's quite a few hundred miles away.
+Perhaps even a few thousand miles away. I feel sure that will be the
+best thing for me ... I mean, of course, for Miss Thompson. I shall
+recommend that the court so order."
+
+"Doctor--" But even Barbara saw, Malone could tell, that it was no good
+arguing with Dr. Harman. She tried a last attack. "Doctor, who's going
+to take care of her?"
+
+A light the size and shape of North America burst in Malone's mind. He
+almost chortled. But he managed to keep his voice under control. "What
+she needs," he said, "is a trained psychiatric nurse."
+
+Barbara Wilson gave him a look that had carloads of U{235} stacked away
+in it, but Malone barely minded. She'd get over it, he told himself.
+
+"Now, wasn't that sweet of you to think of that," the little old lady
+said. Malone looked at her and was rewarded with another wink.
+
+"I'm certainly glad you thought of Barbara," the little old lady went
+on. "You will go with me won't you, dear? I'll make you a duchess.
+Wouldn't you like to be a duchess, dear?"
+
+Barbara looked from Malone to the little old lady, and then she looked
+at Dr. Harman. Apparently what she saw failed to make her happy.
+
+"We'll take good care of her, Barbara," Malone said.
+
+She didn't even bother to give him an answer. After a second Boyd said:
+"Well, I guess that settles it. If you'll let me use your phone, Dr.
+Harman, I'll call Judge Dunning."
+
+"Go right ahead," Dr. Harman said. "Go right ahead."
+
+The little old lady smiled softly without looking at anybody at all.
+"Won't it be wonderful?" she whispered. "At last I've been recognized.
+My country is about to pay me for my services. My loyal subjects--" She
+stopped and wiped what Malone thought was a tear from one
+cornflower-blue eye.
+
+"Now, now, Miss Thompson," Barbara said.
+
+"I'm not sad," the little old lady said, smiling up at her. "I'm just so
+very happy. I am about to get my reward, my well-deserved reward at
+last, from all of my loyal subjects. You'll see." She paused and Malone
+felt a faint stirring of stark, chill fear.
+
+"Won't it be wonderful?" said the little old lady.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+"You're _where_?" Andrew J. Burris said.
+
+Malone looked at the surprised face on the screen and wished he hadn't
+called. He had to report in, of course--but, if he'd had any sense, he'd
+have ordered Boyd to do the job for him.
+
+Oh, well, it was too late for that now. "I'm in Las Vegas," he said. "I
+tried to get you last night, but I couldn't, so I--"
+
+"Las Vegas," Burris said. "Well, well. Las Vegas." His face darkened and
+his voice became very loud. "Why aren't you in Yucca Flats?" he
+screamed.
+
+"Because she insisted on it," Malone said. "The old lady. Miss Thompson.
+She says there's another telepath here."
+
+Burris closed his eyes. "Well, that's a relief," he said at last.
+"Somebody in one of the gambling houses, I suppose. Fine, Malone." He
+went right on without a pause: "The boys have uncovered two more in
+various parts of the nation. Not one of them is even close to sane." He
+opened his eyes. "Where's this one?" he said.
+
+Malone sighed. "In the looney bin," he said.
+
+Burris' eyes closed again. Malone waited in silence. At last Burris
+said: "All right. Get him out."
+
+"Right," Malone said.
+
+"Tell me," Burris said. "Why did Miss Thompson insist that you go to Las
+Vegas? Somebody else could have done the job. You could have sent Boyd,
+couldn't you?"
+
+"Chief," Malone said slowly, "what sort of mental condition are those
+other telepaths in?"
+
+"Pretty bad," Burris said. "As a matter of fact, very bad. Miss Thompson
+may be off her trolley, but the others haven't even got any tracks." He
+paused. "What's that got to do with it?" he said.
+
+"Well," Malone said, "I figured we'd better handle Miss Thompson with
+kid gloves--at least until we find a better telepath to work with." He
+didn't mention Barbara Wilson. The chief, he told himself, didn't want
+to be bothered with details.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Doggone right you'd better," Burris said. "You treat that old lady as
+if she were the Queen herself, understand?"
+
+"Don't worry," Malone said unhappily. "We are." He hesitated. "She says
+she'll help us find our spy, all right, but we've got to do it her
+way--or else she won't co-operate."
+
+"Do it her way, then," Burris said. "That spy--"
+
+"Chief, are you sure?"
+
+Burris blinked. "Well, then," he said, "what _is_ her way?"
+
+Malone took a deep breath. "First," he said, "we had to come here and
+pick this guy up. This William Logan, who's in a private sanitarium just
+outside of Las Vegas. That's number one. Miss Thompson wants to get all
+the telepaths together, so they can hold mental conversations or
+something."
+
+"And all of them batty," Burris said.
+
+"Sure," Malone said. "A convention of nuts--and me in the middle.
+Listen, chief--"
+
+"Later," Burris said. "When this is over we can all resign, or go
+fishing, or just plain shoot ourselves. But right now the national
+security is primary, Malone. Remember that."
+
+"O.K.," Malone sighed. "O.K. But she wants all the nuts here."
+
+"Go along with her," Burris snapped. "Keep her happy. So far, Malone,
+she's the only lead we have on the guy who's swiping information from
+Yucca Flats. If she wants something, Malone, you do it."
+
+"But, chief--"
+
+"Don't interrupt me," Burris said. "If she wants to be treated like a
+queen, you treat her like one. Malone, that's an order!"
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said sadly. "But, chief, she wants us to buy her some
+new clothes."
+
+Burris exploded: "Is that all? New clothes? Get 'em. Put 'em on the
+expense account. New clothes are a drop in the bucket."
+
+"Well ... she thinks we need new clothes, too."
+
+"Maybe you do," Burris said. "Put the whole thing on the expense
+account. You don't think I'm going to quibble about a few dollars, do
+you?"
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Get the clothes. Just don't bother me with details like this. Handle
+the job yourself, Malone--you're in charge out there. And get to Yucca
+Flats as soon as possible."
+
+Malone gave up. "Yes, sir," he said.
+
+"All right, then," Burris said. "Call me tomorrow. Meanwhile--good luck,
+Malone. Chin up."
+
+Malone said: "Yes, sir," and reached for the switch. But Burris' voice
+stopped him.
+
+"Just one thing," he said.
+
+"Yes, chief?" Malone said.
+
+Burris frowned. "Don't spend any more for the clothes than you have to,"
+he said.
+
+Malone nodded, and cut off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the director's image had vanished, he got up and went to the window
+of the hotel room. Outside, a huge sign told the world, and Malone, that
+this was the Thunderbird-Hilton-Zeckendorf Hotel, but Malone ignored it.
+He didn't need a sign; he knew where he was.
+
+In hot water, he thought. _That's_ where he was.
+
+Behind him, the door opened. Malone turned as Boyd came in.
+
+"I found a costume shop, Ken," he said.
+
+"Great," Malone said. "The chief authorized it."
+
+"He did?" Boyd's round face fell at the news.
+
+"He said to buy her whatever she wants. He says to treat her like a
+queen."
+
+"That," Boyd said, "we're doing now."
+
+"I know it," Malone said. "I know it altogether too well."
+
+"Anyhow," Boyd said, brightening, "the costume shop doesn't do us any
+good. They've only got cowboy stuff and bullfighters' costumes and
+Mexican stuff--you know, for their Helldorado Week here."
+
+"You didn't give up, did you?" Malone said.
+
+Boyd shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "Ken, this is on the
+expense account, isn't it?"
+
+"Expense account," Malone said. "Sure it is."
+
+Boyd looked relieved. "Good," he said. "Because I had the proprietor
+phone her size in, to New York."
+
+"Better get two of 'em," Malone said. "The chief said anything she
+wanted, she was supposed to have."
+
+"I'll go back right away. I told him we wanted the stuff on the
+afternoon plane, so--"
+
+"And give him Bar ... Miss Wilson's size, and yours, and mine. Tell him
+to dig up something appropriate."
+
+"For us?" Boyd blanched visibly.
+
+"For us," Malone said grimly.
+
+Boyd set his jaw. "No," he said.
+
+"Listen, Tom," Malone said, "I don't like this any better than you do.
+But if I can't resign, you can't either. Costumes for everybody."
+
+"But," Boyd said, and stopped. After a second he went on: "Malone ...
+Ken ... FBI agents are supposed to be inconspicuous, aren't they?"
+
+Malone nodded.
+
+"Well, how inconspicuous are we going to be in this stuff?"
+
+"It's an idea," Malone said. "But it isn't a very good one. Our first
+job is to keep Miss Thompson happy. And that means costumes. And what's
+more," Malone added, "from now on she's 'Your Majesty'. Got that?"
+
+"Ken," Boyd said, "you've gone nuts."
+
+Malone shook his head. "No, I haven't," he said. "I just wish I had. It
+would be a relief."
+
+"Me, too," Boyd said. He started for the door and turned. "I wish I
+could have stayed in San Francisco," he said. "Why should she insist on
+taking _me_ along?"
+
+"The beard," Malone said.
+
+"_My_ beard?" Boyd recoiled.
+
+"Right," Malone said. "She says it reminds her of someone she knows.
+Frankly, it reminds me of someone, too. Only I don't know who."
+
+Boyd gulped. "I'll shave it off," he said, with the air of a man who can
+do no more to propitiate the Gods.
+
+"You will not," Malone said firmly. "Touch but a hair of yon black chin,
+and I'll peel off your entire skin."
+
+Boyd winced.
+
+"Now," Malone said, "go back to that costume shop and arrange things.
+Here." He fished in his pockets, came out with a crumpled slip of paper
+and handed it to Boyd. "That's a list of my clothing sizes. Get another
+list from B ... Miss Wilson." Boyd nodded. Malone thought he detected a
+strange glint in the other man's eye. "Don't measure her yourself," he
+said. "Just ask her."
+
+Boyd scratched his bearded chin and nodded slowly. "All right, Ken," he
+said. "But if we just don't get anywhere, don't blame me."
+
+"If you get anywhere," Malone said, "I'll snatch you baldheaded. And
+I'll leave the beard."
+
+"I didn't mean with Miss Wilson, Ken," Boyd said. "I meant in general."
+He left, with the air of a man whose world has betrayed him. His back
+looked, to Malone, like the back of a man on his way to the scaffold or
+guillotine.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Now, Malone thought, who does that beard remind me of? Who do I know who
+knows Miss Thompson?
+
+And what difference does it make?
+
+Nevertheless, he told himself, Boyd's beard was really an admirable fact
+of nature. Ever since beards had become popular again in the
+mid-sixties, and FBI agents had been permitted to wear them, Malone had
+thought about growing one. But, somehow, it didn't seem right.
+
+Now, looking at Boyd, he began to think about the prospect again.
+
+He shrugged the notion away. There were things to do.
+
+He picked up the phone and called Information.
+
+"Can you give me," he said, "the number of the Desert Edge Sanitarium?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The crimson blob of the setting sun was already painting the desert sky
+with its customary purples and oranges by the time the little caravan
+arrived at the Desert Edge Sanitarium, a square white building several
+miles out of Las Vegas. Malone, in the first car, wondered briefly about
+the kind of patients they catered to? People driven mad by vingt-et-un
+or poker-dice? Neurotic chorus ponies? Gambling czars with delusions of
+non-persecution?
+
+Sitting in the front seat next to Boyd, he watched the unhappy San
+Francisco agent manipulating the wheel. In the back seat, Queen
+Elizabeth Thompson and Lady Barbara, the nurse, were located, and Her
+Majesty was chattering away like a magpie.
+
+Malone eyed the rear-view mirror to get a look at the car following them
+and the two local FBI agents in it. They were, he thought, unbelievably
+lucky. He had to sit and listen to the Royal Personage in the back seat.
+
+"Of course, as soon as Parliament convenes and recognizes me," she was
+saying, "I shall confer personages on all of you. Right now, the best I
+can do is to knight you all, and of course that's hardly enough. But I
+think I shall make Sir Kenneth the Duke of Columbia."
+
+Sir Kenneth, Malone realized, was himself. He wondered how he'd like
+being Duke of Columbia--and wouldn't the President be surprised!
+
+"And Sir Thomas," the queen continued, "will be the Duke of ... what?
+Sir Thomas?"
+
+"Yes, Your Majesty?" Boyd said, trying to sound both eager and properly
+respectful.
+
+"What would you like to be Duke of?" she said.
+
+"Oh," Boyd said after a second's thought, "anything that pleases Your
+Majesty." But, apparently, his thoughts gave him away.
+
+"You're from upstate New York?" the Queen said. "How very nice. Then you
+must be made the Duke of Poughkeepsie."
+
+"Thank you, Your Majesty," Boyd said. Malone thought he detected a note
+of pride in the man's voice, and shot a glance at Boyd, but the agent
+was driving with a serene face and an economy of motion.
+
+_Duke of Poughkeepsie!_ Malone thought. _Hah!_
+
+He leaned back and adjusted his fur-trimmed coat. The plume that fell
+from his cap kept tickling his neck, and he brushed at it without
+success.
+
+All four of the inhabitants of the car were dressed in late Sixteenth
+Century costumes, complete with ruffs and velvet and lace filigree. Her
+Majesty and Lady Barbara were wearing the full skirts and small
+skullcaps of the era--and on Barbara, Malone thought privately, the
+low-cut gowns didn't look at all disappointing--and Sir Thomas and
+Malone--Sir Kenneth, he thought sourly--were clad in doublet, hose and
+long coats with fur trim and slashed sleeves. And all of them were
+loaded down, weighted down, staggeringly, with gems.
+
+Naturally, the gems were fake. But then, Malone thought, the Queen was
+mad. It all balanced out in the end.
+
+As they approached the sanitarium, Malone breathed a thankful prayer
+that he'd called up to tell the head physician how they'd all be
+dressed. If he hadn't--
+
+He didn't want to think about that.
+
+He didn't even want to pass it by hurriedly on a dark night.
+
+The head physician, Dr. Frederic Dowson, was waiting for them on the
+steps of the building. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man with
+almost no hair and very deep-sunken eyes. He had the kind of face that a
+gushing female would probably describe, Malone thought, as "craggy," but
+it didn't look in the least attractive to Malone. Instead, it looked
+tough and forbidding.
+
+He didn't turn a hair as the magnificently robed Boyd slid from the
+front seat, opened the rear door, doffed his plumed hat, and in one low
+sweep made a great bow. "We are here, Your Majesty," Boyd said.
+
+Her Majesty got out, clutching at her voluminous skirts in a worried
+manner, to keep from catching them on the door jamb. "You know, Sir
+Thomas," she said when she was standing free of the car, "I think we
+must be related."
+
+"Ah?" Boyd said worriedly.
+
+"I'm certain of it, in fact," Her Majesty went on. "You look just
+exactly like my poor father. Just exactly. I dare say you come from one
+of the sinister branches of the family. Perhaps you are a half-brother
+of mine--removed, of course."
+
+Malone grinned, and tried to hide the expression. Boyd was looking
+puzzled, then distantly angered. Nobody had ever called him illegitimate
+in just that way before.
+
+But Her Majesty was absolutely right, Malone thought. The agent had
+always reminded him of someone, and now, at last, he knew exactly who.
+The hair hadn't been black, either, but red.
+
+Boyd was, in Elizabethan costume, the deadest of dead ringers for Henry
+VIII.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone went up the steps to where Dr. Dowson was standing.
+
+"I'm Malone," he said, checking a tendency to bow. "I called earlier
+today. Is this William Logan of yours ready to go? We can take him back
+with us in the second car."
+
+Dr. Dowson compressed his lips and looked worried. "Come in, Mr.
+Malone," he said. He turned just as the second carload of FBI agents
+began emptying itself over the hospital grounds.
+
+The entire procession filed into the hospital office, the two local
+agents bringing up the rear. Since they were not a part of Her Majesty's
+personal retinue, they had not been required to wear court costumes. In
+a way, Malone was beginning to feel sorry for them. He himself cut a
+nice figure in the outfit, he thought--rather like Errol Flynn in the
+old black-and-white print of "The Prince and the Pauper."
+
+But there was no denying that the procession looked strange. File clerks
+and receptionists stopped their work to gape at the four bedizened
+walkers and their plainly dressed satellites. Malone needed no
+telepathic talent to tell what they were thinking.
+
+"A whole roundup of nuts," they were thinking. "And those two fellows in
+the back must be bringing them in--along with Dr. Dowson."
+
+Malone straightened his spine. Really, he didn't see why Elizabethan
+costumes had ever gone out of style. Elizabeth was back, wasn't
+she--either Elizabeth II, on the throne, or Elizabeth I, right behind
+him. Either way you looked at it--
+
+When they were all inside the waiting room, Dr. Dowson said: "Now, Mr.
+Malone, just what is all this about?" He rubbed his long hands together.
+"I fail to see the humor of the situation."
+
+"Humor?" Malone said.
+
+"Doctor," Barbara Wilson began, "let me explain. You see--"
+
+"These ridiculous costumes," Dr. Dowson said, waving a hand at them.
+"You may feel that poking fun at insanity is humorous, Mr. Malone, but
+let me tell you--"
+
+"It wasn't like that at all," Boyd said.
+
+"And," Dr. Dowson continued in a somewhat louder voice, "wanting to take
+Mr. Logan away from us. Mr. Logan is a very sick man, Mr. Malone. He
+should be properly cared for."
+
+"I promise we'll take good care of him." Malone said earnestly. The
+Elizabethan clothes were fine outdoors, but in a heated room one had a
+tendency to sweat.
+
+"I take leave to doubt that," Dr. Dowson said, eying their costumes
+pointedly.
+
+"Miss Wilson here," Malone volunteered, "is a trained psychiatric
+nurse."
+
+Barbara, in her gown, stepped forward. "Dr. Dowson," she said, "let me
+assure you that these costumes have their purpose. We--"
+
+"Not only that," Malone said. "There are a group of trained men from St.
+Elizabeths Hospital in Washington who are going to take the best of care
+of him." He said nothing whatever about Yucca Flats, or about telepathy.
+
+Why spread around information unnecessarily?
+
+"But I don't understand," Dr. Dowson said. "What interest could the FBI
+have in an insane man?"
+
+"That's none of your business," Malone said. He reached inside his
+fur-trimmed robe and, again suppressing a tendency to bow deeply,
+withdrew an impressive-looking legal document. "This," he said, "is a
+court order, instructing you to hand over to us the person of one
+William Logan, herein identified and described." He waved it at the
+doctor. "That's your William Logan," he said, "only now he's ours."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. Dowson took the papers and put in some time frowning at them. Then
+he looked up again at Malone. "I assume that I have some discretion in
+this matter," he said. "And I wonder if you realize just how ill Mr.
+Logan is? We have his case histories here, and we have worked with him
+for some time."
+
+Barbara Wilson said: "But--"
+
+"I might say that we are beginning to understand his illness," Dr.
+Dowson said. "I honestly don't think it would be proper to transfer this
+work to another group of therapists. It might set his illness
+back--cause, as it were, a relapse. All our work could easily be
+nullified."
+
+"Please, doctor," Barbara Wilson began.
+
+"I'm afraid the court order's got to stand," Malone said. Privately, he
+felt sorry for Dr. Dowson, who was, obviously enough, a conscientious
+man trying to do the best he could for his patient. But--
+
+"I'm sorry, Dr. Dowson," he said. "We'll expect you to send all of your
+data to the government psychiatrists--and, naturally, any concern for
+the patient's welfare will be our concern also. The FBI isn't anxious
+for its workers to get the reputation of careless men." He paused,
+wondering what other bone he could throw the man. "I have no doubt that
+the St. Elizabeths men will be happy to accept your co-operation," he
+said at last. "But, I'm afraid that our duty is clear. William Logan
+goes with us."
+
+Dr. Dowson looked at them sourly. "Does he have to get dressed up like a
+masquerade, too?" Before Malone could answer, the psychiatrist added:
+"Anyhow, I don't even know you're FBI men. After all, why should I
+comply with orders from a group of men, dressed insanely, whom I don't
+even know?"
+
+Malone didn't say anything. He just got up and walked to a phone on a
+small table, near the wall. Next to it was a door, and Malone wondered
+uncomfortably what was behind it. Maybe Dr. Dowson had a small arsenal
+there, to protect his patients and prevent people from pirating them.
+
+He looked back at the set and dialed Burris' private number in
+Washington. When the director's face appeared on the screen, Malone
+said: "Mr. Burris, will you please identify me to Dr. Dowson?" He looked
+over at Dowson. "You recognize Mr. Andrew J. Burris, I suppose?" he
+said.
+
+Dowson nodded. His grim face showed a faint shock. He walked to the
+phone, and Malone stepped back to let him talk with Burris.
+
+"My name is Dowson," he said. "I'm psychiatric director here at Desert
+Edge Sanitarium. And your men--"
+
+"My men have orders to take a William Logan from your care," Burris
+said.
+
+"That's right," Dowson said. "But--"
+
+While they were talking, Queen Elizabeth I sidled quietly up to Malone
+and tapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Sir Kenneth," she whispered in the faintest of voices, "I know where
+your telepathic spy is. And I know _who_ he is."
+
+"Who?" Malone said. "What? Why? Where?" He blinked and whirled. It
+couldn't be true. They couldn't solve the case so easily.
+
+But the Queen's face was full of a majestic assurance. "He's right
+there," she said, and she pointed.
+
+Malone followed her finger.
+
+It was aimed directly at the glowing image of Andrew J. Burris, Director
+of the FBI.
+
+[Illustration: "Not legally responsible, of course...."]
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+Malone opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even air.
+
+He wasn't breathing.
+
+He stared at Burris for a long moment, then took a breath and looked
+again at Her Majesty. "The spy?" he whispered.
+
+"That's right," she said.
+
+"But that's--" He had to fight for control. "That's the head of the
+FBI," he managed to say. "Do you mean to say he's a spy?"
+
+Burris was saying: "... I'm afraid this is a matter of importance, Dr.
+Dowson. We cannot tolerate delay. You have the court order. Obey it."
+
+"Very well, Mr. Burris," Dowson said with an obvious lack of grace.
+"I'll release him to Mr. Malone immediately, since you insist."
+
+Malone stared, fascinated. Then he turned back to the little old lady.
+"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that Andrew J. Burris is a
+telepathic spy?"
+
+"Oh, dear me," Her Majesty said, obviously aghast. "My goodness
+gracious. Is that Mr. Burris on the screen?"
+
+"It is," Malone assured her. A look out of the corner of his eye told
+him that neither Burris, in Washington, nor Dowson or any others in the
+room, had heard any of the conversation. Malone lowered his whisper some
+more, just in case. "That's the head of the FBI," he said.
+
+"Well, then," Her Majesty said, "Mr. Burris couldn't possibly be a spy,
+then, could he? Not if he's the head of the FBI. Of course not. Mr.
+Burris simply isn't a spy. He isn't the type. Forget all about Mr.
+Burris."
+
+"I can't," Malone said at random. "I work for him." He closed his eyes.
+The room, he had discovered, was spinning slightly. "Now," he said,
+"you're sure he's not a spy?"
+
+"Certainly I'm sure," she said, with her most regal tones. "Do you doubt
+the word of your sovereign?"
+
+"Not exactly," Malone said. Truthfully, he wasn't at all sure. Not at
+all. But why tell that to the Queen?
+
+"Shame on you," she said. "You shouldn't even think such things. After
+all, I am the Queen, aren't I?" But there was a sweet, gentle smile on
+her face when she spoke; she did not seem to be really irritated.
+
+"Sure you are," Malone said. "But--"
+
+"Malone!" It was Burris' voice, from the phone. Malone spun around.
+"Take Mr. Logan," Burris said, "and get going. There's been enough delay
+as it is."
+
+"Yes, sir," Malone said. "Right away, sir. Anything else?"
+
+"That's all," Burris said. "Good night." The screen blanked.
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"All right, doctor," Boyd said. He looked every inch a king, and Malone
+knew exactly what king. "Bring him out."
+
+Dr. Dowson heaved a great sigh. "Very well," he said heavily. "But I
+want it known that I resent this high-handed treatment, and I shall
+write a letter complaining of it." He pressed a button on an instrument
+panel in his desk. "Bring Mr. Logan in," he said.
+
+Malone wasn't in the least worried about the letter. Burris, he knew,
+would take care of anything like that. And, besides, he had other things
+to think about.
+
+The door to the next room had opened almost immediately, and two husky,
+white-clad men were bringing in a strait-jacketed figure whose arms were
+wrapped against his chest, while the jacket's extra-long sleeves were
+tied behind his back. He walked where the attendants led him, but his
+eyes weren't looking at anything in the room. They stared at something
+far away and invisible, an impalpable shifting nothingness somewhere in
+the infinite distances beyond the world.
+
+For the first time, Malone felt the chill of panic. Here, he thought,
+was insanity of a very real and frightening kind. Queen Elizabeth
+Thompson was one thing--and she was almost funny, and likable, after
+all. But William Logan was something else, and something that sent a
+wave of cold shivering into the room.
+
+What made it worse was that Logan wasn't a man, but a boy, barely
+nineteen. Malone had known that, of course--but seeing it was something
+different. The lanky, awkward figure wrapped in a hospital strait jacket
+was horrible, and the smooth, unconcerned face was, somehow, worse.
+There was no threat in that face, no terror or anger or fear. It was
+merely--a blank.
+
+It was not a human face. Its complete lack of emotion or expression
+could have belonged to a sleeping child of ten--or to a member of a
+different race. Malone looked at the boy, and looked away.
+
+Was it possible that Logan knew what he was thinking?
+
+_Answer me_, he thought, directly at the still boy.
+
+There was no reply, none at all. Malone forced himself to look away. But
+the air in the room seemed to have become much colder.
+
+The attendants stood on either side of him, waiting. For one long second
+no one moved, and then Dr. Dowson reached into his desk drawer and
+produced a sheaf of papers.
+
+"If you'll sign these for the government," he said, "you may have Mr.
+Logan. There seems little else that I can do, Mr. Malone--in spite of my
+earnest pleas--"
+
+"I'm sorry," Malone said. After all, he _needed_ Logan, didn't he? After
+a look at the boy, he wasn't sure any more--but the Queen had said she
+wanted him, and the Queen's word was law. Or what passed for law,
+anyhow, at least for the moment.
+
+Malone took the papers and looked them over. There was nothing special
+about them; they were merely standard release forms, absolving the staff
+and management of Desert Edge Sanitarium from every conceivable
+responsibility under any conceivable circumstances, as far as William
+Logan was concerned. Dr. Dowson gave Malone a look that said: "Very
+well, Mr. Malone; I will play Pilate and wash my hands of the
+matter--but you needn't think I like it." It was a lot for one look to
+say, but Dr. Dowson's dark and sunken eyes got the message across with
+no loss in transmission. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be more
+coming--a much less printable message was apparently on the way through
+those glittering, sad and angry eyes.
+
+Malone avoided them nervously, and went over the papers again instead.
+At last he signed them and handed them back. "Thanks for your
+co-operation, Dr. Dowson," he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of a
+traitor.
+
+"Not at all," Dowson said bitterly. "Mr. Logan is now in your custody. I
+must trust you to take good care of him."
+
+"The best care we can," Malone said. It didn't seem sufficient. He
+added: "The best possible care, doctor," and tried to look dependable
+and trustworthy, like a Boy Scout. He was aware that the effort failed
+miserably.
+
+At his signal, the two plainclothes FBI men took over from the
+attendants. They marched Logan out to their car, and Malone led the
+procession back to Boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted--in
+order--of Sir Kenneth Malone, prospective Duke of Columbia, Queen
+Elizabeth I, Lady Barbara, prospective Duchess of an unspecified county,
+and Sir Thomas Boyd, prospective Duke of Poughkeepsie. Malone hummed a
+little of "Pomp and Circumstance" as they walked; somehow, he thought it
+was called for.
+
+They piled into the car, Boyd at the wheel with Malone next to him, and
+the two ladies in back, with Queen Elizabeth sitting directly behind Sir
+Thomas. Boyd started the engine and they turned and roared off.
+
+"Well," said Her Majesty with an air of great complacence, "that's that.
+That makes six of us."
+
+Malone looked around the car. He counted the people. There were four. He
+said, puzzled: "Six?"
+
+"That's right, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "You have it exactly.
+Six."
+
+"You mean six telepaths?" Sir Thomas asked in a deferent tone of voice.
+
+"Certainly I do," Her Majesty replied. "We telepaths, you know, must
+stick together. That's the reason I got poor little Willie out of that
+sanitarium of his, you know--and, of course, the others will be joining
+us."
+
+"Don't you think it's time for your nap, dear?" Lady Barbara put in
+suddenly.
+
+"My _what_?" It was obvious that Queen Elizabeth was Not Amused.
+
+"Your nap, dear," Lady Barbara said.
+
+"Don't call me 'dear,'" Her Majesty snapped.
+
+"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Barbara murmured. "But really--"
+
+"My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I am not a child. I am your
+sovereign. Do try to have a little respect. Why, I remember when
+Shakespeare used to say to me--but that's no matter, not now."
+
+"About those telepaths--" Boyd began.
+
+"Telepaths," Her Majesty said. "Ah, yes. We must all stick together. In
+the hospital, you know, we had a little joke--the patients for Insulin
+Shock Therapy used to say: 'If we don't stick together, we'll all be
+stuck separately.' Do you see, Sir Thomas?"
+
+"But," Sir Kenneth Malone said, trying desperately to return to the
+point. "_Six?_" He had counted them up in his mind. Burris had mentioned
+one found in St. Elizabeths, and two more picked up later. With Queen
+Elizabeth, and now William Logan, that made five.
+
+Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reason
+why not.
+
+"Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you,
+Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles."
+
+Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?"
+
+"That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your FBI
+men found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to Yucca
+Flats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?"
+
+Lady Barbara cleared her throat.
+
+"It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear,"
+the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking."
+
+Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about that
+nap--" she began.
+
+"My dear girl," the Queen said, with the faintest trace of impatience,
+"I do not feel the least bit tired, and this is such an exciting day
+that I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told you
+I don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen--no
+matter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn to
+understand that, dear."
+
+Lady Barbara opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it once more.
+"My goodness," she said.
+
+"That's the idea," Her Majesty said approvingly. "Think before you
+speak--and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I know
+what you're thinking."
+
+Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath ... this Barry Miles. Did
+they find him--"
+
+"In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, Sir
+Kenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths went
+insane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, and
+because no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed you
+could see?"
+
+"Strange," Malone admitted.
+
+"There," Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane--it's sort
+of an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane."
+
+"Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps they
+would turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational.
+
+"There's me, of course," Her Majesty said.
+
+Lady Barbara gulped audibly. Boyd said nothing, but gripped the wheel of
+the car more tightly.
+
+And Malone thought to himself: _That's right. There's Queen
+Elizabeth--who says she isn't crazy._
+
+And then he thought of one more sane telepath. But the knowledge did not
+make him feel any better.
+
+It was, of course, the spy.
+
+How many more are going to turn up? Malone wondered.
+
+"Oh, that's about all of us," the Queen said. "There is one more, but
+she's in a hospital in Honolulu, and your men won't find her until
+tomorrow."
+
+[Illustration: Sir Thomas Boyd ... looking majestic.]
+
+Boyd turned. "Do you mean you can foretell the future, too?" he asked in
+a strained voice.
+
+Lady Barbara screamed: "Keep your eyes on the wheel and your hands on
+the road!"
+
+"What?" Boyd said.
+
+There was a terrific blast of noise, and a truck went by in the opposite
+direction. The driver, a big, ugly man with no hair on his head, leaned
+out to curse at the quartet, but his mouth remained open. He stared at
+the four Elizabethans and said nothing at all as he whizzed by.
+
+"What was that?" Boyd asked faintly.
+
+"That," Malone snapped, "was a truck. And it was due entirely to the
+mercy of God that we didn't hit it. Barbara's right. Keep your eyes on
+the wheel and your hands on the road." He paused and thought that over.
+Then he said: "Does that mean anything at all?"
+
+"Lady Barbara was confused by the excitement," the Queen said calmly.
+"It's all right now, dear."
+
+Lady Barbara blinked across the seat. "I was--afraid," she said.
+
+"It's all right," the Queen said. "I'll take care of you."
+
+"This," Malone announced to no one in particular, "is ridiculous."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Boyd swept the car around a curve and concentrated grimly on the road.
+After a second the Queen said: "Since you're still thinking about the
+question, I'll answer you."
+
+"What question?" Malone said, thoroughly baffled.
+
+"Sir Thomas asked me if I could foretell the future," the Queen said
+equably. "Of course I can't. That's silly. Just because I'm immortal and
+I'm a telepath, don't go hog-wild."
+
+"Then how did you know the FBI agents were going to find the girl in
+Honolulu tomorrow?" Boyd said.
+
+"Because," the Queen said, "they're thinking about looking in the
+hospital tomorrow, and when they look they'll certainly find her."
+
+Boyd said: "Oh," and was silent.
+
+But Malone had a grim question. "Why didn't you tell me about these
+other telepaths before?" he said. "You could have saved us a lot of
+work."
+
+"Oh, heavens to Betsy, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty exclaimed. "How could
+I? After all, the proper precautions had to be taken first, didn't they?
+I told you all the others were crazy--_really_ crazy, I mean. And they
+just wouldn't be safe without the proper precautions."
+
+"Perhaps you ought to go back to the hospital, too," Barbara said, and
+added: "Your Majesty," just in time.
+
+"But if I did, dear," Her Majesty said, "you'd lose your chance to
+become a Duchess, and that wouldn't be at all nice. Besides, I'm having
+so much _fun_!" She trilled a laugh again. "Riding around like this is
+just wonderful!" she said.
+
+_And you're important for national security_, Malone said to himself.
+
+"That's right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "The country needs me, and
+I'm happy to serve. That is the job of a sovereign."
+
+"Fine," Malone said, hoping it was.
+
+"Well, then," said Her Majesty, "that settles that. We have a whole
+night ahead of us, Sir Kenneth. What do you say we make a night _of_
+it?"
+
+"Knight who?" Malone said. He felt confused again. It seemed as if he
+was always feeling confused lately.
+
+"Don't be silly, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "There are times and
+times."
+
+"Sure," Malone said at random. _And time and a half_, he thought.
+_Possibly for overtime._ "What is Your Majesty thinking of?" he asked
+with trepidation.
+
+"I want to take a tour of Las Vegas," Her Majesty said primly.
+
+Lady Barbara shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Your
+Majesty," she said.
+
+"And why not, pray?" Her Majesty said. "No. I can see what you're
+thinking. It's not safe to let me go wandering around in a strange city,
+and particularly if that city is Las Vegas. Well, dear, I can assure you
+that it's perfectly safe."
+
+"We've got work to do," Boyd contributed.
+
+Malone said nothing. He stared bleakly at the hood ornament on the car.
+
+"I have made my wishes known," the Queen said.
+
+Lady Barbara said: "But--"
+
+Boyd, however, knew when to give in. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said.
+
+She smiled graciously at him, and answered Lady Barbara only by a slight
+lift of her regal eyebrow.
+
+Malone had been thinking about something else. When he was sure he had a
+firm grip on himself he turned. "Your Majesty, tell me something," he
+said. "You can read my mind, right?"
+
+"Well, of course, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "I thought I'd proved
+that to you. And, as for what you're about to ask--"
+
+"No," Malone said. "Please. Let me ask the questions before you answer
+them. It's less confusing that way. I'll cheerfully admit that it
+shouldn't be--but it is. Please?"
+
+"Certainly, Sir Kenneth, if you wish," the Queen said. She folded her
+hands in her lap and waited quietly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"O.K.," Malone said. "Now, if you can read my mind, then you must know
+that I don't _really_ believe that you are Queen Elizabeth of England.
+The First, I mean."
+
+"Mr. Malone," Barbara Wilson said suddenly. "I--"
+
+"It's all right, child," the Queen said. "He doesn't disturb me. And I
+do wish you'd call him Sir Kenneth. That's his title, you know."
+
+"Now that's what I mean," Malone said. "Why do you want us to _act_ as
+if we believe you, when you know we don't?"
+
+"Because that's the way people do act," the Queen said calmly. "Very few
+people really believe that their so-called superiors _are_ superior.
+Almost none of them do, in fact."
+
+"Now wait a minute," Boyd began.
+
+"No, no, it's quite true," the Queen said, "and, unpleasant as it may
+be, we must learn to face the truth. That's the path of sanity." Lady
+Barbara made a strangled noise but Her Majesty continued, unruffled.
+"Nearly everybody suffers from the silly delusion that he's possibly
+equal to, but very probably superior to, everybody else ... my
+goodness, where would we be if that were true?"
+
+Malone felt that a comment was called for, and he made one. "Who knows?"
+he said.
+
+"All the things people do toward their superiors," the Queen said, "are
+done for social reasons. For instance, Sir Kenneth: you don't realize
+fully how you feel about Mr. Burris."
+
+"He's a nice guy," Malone said. "I work for him. He's a good Director of
+the FBI."
+
+"Of course," the Queen said. "But you believe you could do the job just
+as well, or perhaps a little better."
+
+"I do not," Malone said angrily.
+
+Her Majesty reserved a dignified silence.
+
+After a while Malone said: "And what if I do?"
+
+"Why, nothing," Her Majesty said. "You don't think Mr. Burris is any
+smarter or better than you are--but you treat him as if you did. All I
+am insisting on is the same treatment."
+
+"But if we don't believe--" Boyd began.
+
+"Bless you," Her Majesty said, "I can't help the way you _think_, but,
+as Queen, I do have some control over the way you _act_."
+
+Malone thought it over. "You have a point there," he said at last.
+
+Barbara said: "But--"
+
+"Yes, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said, "I do." She seemed to be ignoring
+Lady Barbara. Perhaps, Malone thought, she was still angry over the nap
+affair. "It's not that," the Queen said.
+
+"Not what?" Boyd said, thoroughly confused.
+
+"Not the naps," the Queen said.
+
+"What naps?" Boyd said.
+
+Malone said: "I was thinking--"
+
+"Good," Boyd said. "Keep it up. I'm driving. Everything's going to hell
+around me, but I'm driving."
+
+A red light appeared ahead. Boyd jammed on the brakes with somewhat more
+than the necessary force, and Malone was thrown forward with a grunt.
+Behind him there were two ladylike squeals.
+
+Malone struggled upright. "Barbara?" he called. "Are you all right--"
+Then he remembered the Queen.
+
+"It's all right," Her Majesty said. "I can understand your concern for
+Lady Barbara." She smiled at Malone as he turned.
+
+Malone gaped at her. Of course she knew what he thought about Barbara;
+she'd been reading his mind. And, apparently, she was on his side. That
+was good, even though it made him slightly nervous to think about.
+
+"Now," the Queen said suddenly, "what about tonight?"
+
+"Tonight?"
+
+"Yes, of course," the Queen said. She smiled, and put up a hand to pat
+at her white hair under the Elizabethan skullcap. "I think I should like
+to go to the Palace," she said. "After all, isn't that where a Queen
+should be?"
+
+Boyd said, in a kind of explosion: "London? England?"
+
+"Oh, dear me--" the Queen began, and Barbara said:
+
+"I'm afraid that I simply can't allow anything like that. Overseas--"
+
+"I didn't mean overseas, dear," Her Majesty said. "Sir Kenneth, please
+explain to these people."
+
+The Palace, Malone knew, was more properly known as the Golden Palace.
+It was right in Las Vegas--convenient to all sources of money. As a
+matter of fact, it was one of the biggest gambling houses along the Las
+Vegas strip, a veritable chaos of wheels, cards, dice, chips and other
+such devices. Malone explained all this to the others, wondering
+meanwhile why Miss Thompson wanted to go there.
+
+"_Not_ Miss Thompson, _please_, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said.
+
+"Not Miss Thompson what?" Boyd said. "What's going on anyhow?"
+
+"She's reading my mind," Malone said.
+
+"Well, then," Boyd snapped, "tell her to keep it to herself." The car
+started up again with a roar and Malone and the others were thrown
+around again, this time toward the back. There was a chorus of groans
+and squeals, and they were on their way once more.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"To reply to your question, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said.
+
+Lady Barbara said, with some composure: "What question ... Your
+Majesty?"
+
+The Queen nodded regally at her. "Sir Kenneth was wondering why I wished
+to go to the Golden Palace," she said. "And my reply is this: it is none
+of your business why I want to go there. After all, is my word law, or
+isn't it?"
+
+There didn't seem to be a good enough answer to that, Malone thought
+sadly. He kept quiet and was relieved to note that the others did the
+same. However, after a second he thought of something else.
+
+"Your Majesty," he began carefully, "we've got to go to Yucca Flats
+tomorrow. Remember?"
+
+"Certainly," the Queen said. "My memory is quite good, thank you. But
+that is tomorrow morning. We have the rest of the night left. It's only
+a little after nine, you know."
+
+"Heavens," Barbara said. "Is it that late?"
+
+"It's even later," Boyd said sourly. "It's much later than you think."
+
+"And it's getting later all the time," Malone added. "Pretty soon the
+sun will go out and all life on earth will end. Won't that be nice and
+peaceful?"
+
+"I'm looking forward to it," Boyd said.
+
+"I'm not," Barbara said. "But I've got to get some sleep tonight, if I'm
+going to be any good at all tomorrow."
+
+_You're pretty good right now_, Malone thought, but he didn't say a
+word. He felt the Queen's eye on him but didn't turn around. After all,
+she was on his side--wasn't she?
+
+At any rate, she didn't say anything.
+
+"Perhaps it would be best," Barbara said, "if you and I ... Your Majesty
+... just went home and rested up. Some other time, then, when there's
+nothing vital to do, we could--"
+
+"No," the Queen said. "We couldn't. Really, Lady Barbara, how often will
+I have to remind you of the duties you owe your sovereign--not the least
+of which is obedience, as dear old Ben used to say."
+
+"Ben?" Malone said, and immediately wished he hadn't.
+
+"Jonson, dear boy," the Queen said. "Really a remarkable man--and such a
+good friend to poor Will. Why, did you ever hear the story of how he
+actually paid Will's rent in London once upon a time? That was while
+Will and that Anne of his were having one of their arguments, of course.
+I didn't tell you that story, did I?"
+
+"No," Malone said truthfully, but his voice was full of foreboding. "If
+I might remind Your Majesty of the subject," he added tentatively, "I
+should like to say--"
+
+"Remind me of the subject!" the Queen said, obviously delighted. "What a
+lovely pun! And how much better because purely unconscious! My, my, Sir
+Kenneth, I never suspected you of a pointed sense of humor--could you be
+a descendant of Sir Richard Greene, I wonder?"
+
+"I doubt it," Malone said. "My ancestors were all poor but Irish." He
+paused. "Or, if you prefer, Irish but poor." Another pause, and then he
+added: "If that means anything at all. Which I doubt."
+
+"In any case," the Queen said, her eyes twinkling, "you were about to
+enter a new objection to our little visit to the Palace, were you not?"
+
+Malone admitted as much. "I really think that--"
+
+Her eyes grew suddenly cold. "If I hear any more objections, Sir
+Kenneth, I shall not only rescind your knighthood and--when I regain my
+rightful kingdom--deny you your dukedom, but I shall refuse to
+co-operate any further in the business of Project Isle."
+
+Malone turned cold. His face, he knew without glancing in the mirror,
+was white and pale. He thought of what Burris would do to him if he
+didn't follow through on his assigned job.
+
+Even if he wasn't as good as Burris thought he was, he really liked
+being an FBI agent. He didn't want to be fired.
+
+And Burris had said: "_Give her anything she wants._"
+
+He gulped and tried to make his face look normal. "All right," he said.
+"Fine. We'll go to the Palace."
+
+He tried to ignore the pall of apprehension that fell over the car.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+The management of the Golden Palace had been in business for many long,
+dreary, profitable years, and each member of the staff thought he or she
+had seen just about everything there was to be seen. And those that were
+new felt an obligation to _look_ as if they'd seen everything.
+
+Therefore, when the entourage of Queen Elizabeth I strolled into the
+main salon, not a single eye was batted. Not a single gasp was heard.
+
+Nevertheless, the staff kept a discreet eye on the crew. Drunks, rich
+men or Arabian millionaires were all familiar. But a group out of the
+Sixteenth Century was something else again.
+
+Malone almost strutted, conscious of the sidelong glances the group was
+drawing. But it was obvious that Sir Thomas was the major attraction.
+Even if you could accept the idea of people in strange costumes, the
+sight of a living, breathing absolute duplicate of King Henry VIII was a
+little too much to take. It has been reported that two ladies named
+Jane, and one named Catherine, came down with sudden headaches and left
+the salon within five minutes of the group's arrival.
+
+Malone felt he knew, however, why he wasn't drawing his full share of
+attention. He felt a little out of place. The costume was one thing,
+and, to tell the truth, he was beginning to enjoy it. Even with the
+weight of the stuff, it was going to be a wrench to go back to
+single-breasted suits and plain white shirts. But he did feel that he
+should have been carrying a sword.
+
+Instead, he had a .44 Magnum Colt snuggled beneath his left armpit.
+
+Somehow, a .44 Magnum Colt didn't seem as romantic as a sword. Malone
+pictured himself saying: "Take that, varlet." Was varlet what you called
+them? he wondered. Maybe it was valet.
+
+"Take that, valet," he muttered. No, that sounded even worse. Oh, well,
+he could look it up later.
+
+The truth was that he had been born in the wrong century. He could
+imagine himself at the Mermaid Tavern, hob-nobbing with Shakespeare and
+all the rest of them. He wondered if Sir Richard Greene would be there.
+Then he wondered who Sir Richard Greene was.
+
+Behind Sir Kenneth, Sir Thomas Boyd strode, looking majestic, as if he
+were about to fling purses of gold to the citizenry. As a matter of
+fact, Malone thought, he was. They all were.
+
+Purses of good old United States of America gold.
+
+Behind Sir Thomas came Queen Elizabeth and her Lady-in-Waiting, Lady
+Barbara Wilson. They made a beautiful foursome.
+
+"The roulette table," Her Majesty said with dignity. "Precede me."
+
+They pushed their way through the crowd. Most of the customers were
+either excited enough, drunk enough, or both to see nothing in the least
+incongruous about a Royal Family of the Tudors invading the Golden
+Palace. Very few of them, as a matter of fact, seemed to notice the
+group.
+
+They were roulette players. They noticed nothing but the table and the
+wheel. Malone wondered what they were thinking about, decided to ask
+Queen Elizabeth, and then decided against it. He felt it would make him
+nervous to know.
+
+Her Majesty took a handful of chips.
+
+The handful was worth, Malone knew, exactly five thousand dollars.
+That, he'd thought, ought to last them an evening, even in the Golden
+Palace. In the center of the strip, inside the city limits of Las Vegas
+itself, the five thousand would have lasted much longer--but Her Majesty
+wanted the Palace, and the Palace it was.
+
+Malone began to smile. Since he couldn't avoid the evening, he was
+determined to enjoy it. It was sort of fun, in its way, indulging a
+sweet harmless old lady. And there was nothing they could do until the
+next morning, anyhow.
+
+His indulgent smile faded very suddenly.
+
+Her Majesty plunked the entire handful of chips--_five thousand
+dollars!_ Malone thought dazedly--onto the table. "Five thousand," she
+said in clear, cool measured tones, "on Number One."
+
+The croupier blinked only slightly. He bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he
+said.
+
+Malone was briefly thankful, in the midst of his black horror, that he
+had called the management and told them that the Queen's plays were
+backed by the United States Government. Her Majesty was going to get
+unlimited credit--and a good deal of awed and somewhat puzzled respect.
+
+Malone watched the spin begin with mixed feelings. There was five
+thousand dollars riding on the little ball. But, after all, Her Majesty
+was a telepath. Did that mean anything?
+
+He hadn't decided by the time the wheel stopped, and by then he didn't
+have to decide.
+
+"Thirty-four," the croupier said tonelessly. "Red, Even and High."
+
+He raked in the chips with a nonchalant air.
+
+Malone felt as if he had swallowed his stomach. Boyd and Lady Barbara,
+standing nearby, had absolutely no expressions on their faces. Malone
+needed no telepath to tell him what they were thinking.
+
+They were exactly the same as he was. They were incapable of thought.
+
+But Her Majesty never batted an eyelash. "Come, Sir Kenneth," she said.
+"Let's go on to the poker tables."
+
+She swept out. Her entourage followed her, shambling a little, and
+blank-eyed. Malone was still thinking about the five thousand dollars.
+Oh, well, Burris had said to give the lady anything she wanted. _But!_
+he thought. _Did she have to play for royal stakes?_
+
+"I am, after all, a Queen," she whispered back to him.
+
+Malone thought about the National Debt. He wondered if a million more or
+less would make any real difference. There would be questions asked in
+committees about it. He tried to imagine himself explaining the evening
+to a group of congressmen. "Well, you see, gentlemen, there was this
+roulette wheel--"
+
+He gave it up.
+
+Then he wondered how much hotter the water was going to get, and he
+stopped thinking altogether in self-defense.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the next room, there were scattered tables. At one, a poker game was
+in full swing. Only five were playing; one, by his white-tie-and-tails
+uniform, was easily recognizable as a house dealer. The other four were
+all men, one of them in full cowboy regalia. The Tudors descended upon
+them with great suddenness, and the house dealer looked up and almost
+lost his cigarette.
+
+"We haven't any money, Your Majesty," Malone whispered.
+
+She smiled up at him sweetly, and then drew him aside. "If you were a
+telepath," she said, "how would _you_ play poker?"
+
+Malone thought about that for a minute, and then turned to look for
+Boyd. But Sir Thomas didn't even have to be given instructions. "Another
+five hundred?" he said.
+
+Her Majesty sniffed audibly. "Another five thousand," she said regally.
+
+Boyd looked Malone-wards. Malone looked defeated.
+
+Boyd turned with a small sigh and headed for the cashier's booth. Three
+minutes later, he was back with a fat fistful of chips.
+
+"Five grand?" Malone whispered to him.
+
+"Ten," Boyd said. "I know when to back a winner."
+
+Her Majesty went over to the table. The dealer had regained control, but
+looked up at them with a puzzled stare.
+
+"You know," the Queen said, with an obvious attempt to put the man at
+his ease, "I've always wanted to visit a gambling hall."
+
+"Sure, lady," the dealer said. "Naturally."
+
+"May I sit down?"
+
+The dealer looked at the group. "How about your friends?" he said
+cautiously.
+
+The Queen shook her head. "They would rather watch, I'm sure."
+
+For once Malone blessed the woman's telepathic talent. He, Boyd and
+Barbara Wilson formed a kind of Guard of Honor around the chair which
+Her Majesty occupied. Boyd handed over the new pile of chips, and was
+favored with a royal smile.
+
+"This is a poker game, ma'am," the dealer said to her, quietly.
+
+"I know, I know," Her Majesty said with a trace of testiness. "Roll
+'em."
+
+The dealer stared at her popeyed. Next to her, the gentleman in the
+cowboy outfit turned. "Ma'am, are you from around these parts?" he said.
+
+"Oh, no," the Queen said. "I'm from England."
+
+"England?" The cowboy looked puzzled. "You don't seem to have any
+accent, ma'am," he said at last.
+
+"Certainly not," the Queen said. "I've lost that; I've been over here a
+great many years."
+
+Malone hoped fervently that Her Majesty wouldn't mention just how many
+years. He didn't think he could stand it, and he was almost grateful for
+the cowboy's nasal twang.
+
+"Oil?" he said.
+
+"Oh, no," Her Majesty said. "The Government is providing this money."
+
+"The Government?"
+
+"Certainly," Her Majesty said. "The FBI, you know."
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+At last, the dealer said: "Five-card draw your game, ma'am?"
+
+"If you please," Her Majesty said.
+
+The dealer shrugged and, apparently, commended his soul to a gambler's
+God. He passed the pasteboards around the table with the air of one who
+will have nothing more to do with the world.
+
+Her Majesty picked up her hand.
+
+[Illustration: "May I raise ... five thousand?"]
+
+"The ante's ten, ma'am," the dealer said softly.
+
+Without looking, Her Majesty removed a ten-dollar chip from the pile
+before her and sent it spinning to the middle of the table.
+
+The dealer opened his mouth, but said nothing. Malone, meanwhile, was
+peering over the Queen's shoulder.
+
+She held a pair of nines, a four, a three and a Jack.
+
+The man to the left of the dealer announced glumly: "Can't open."
+
+The next man grinned. "Open for twenty," he said.
+
+Malone closed his eyes. He heard the cowboy say: "I'm in," and he opened
+his eyes again. The Queen was pushing two ten-dollar chips toward the
+center of the table.
+
+The next man dropped, and the dealer looked round the table. "How many?"
+
+The man who couldn't open took three cards. The man who'd opened for
+twenty stood pat. Malone shuddered invisibly. That, he figured, meant at
+least a straight. And Queen Elizabeth Thompson was going in against a
+straight or better with a pair of nines, Jack high.
+
+For the first time, it was borne in on Malone that being a telepath did
+not necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. Even if you knew
+what every other person at the table held, you could still make a whole
+lot of stupid mistakes.
+
+He looked nervously at Queen Elizabeth, but her face was serene.
+Apparently she'd been following the thoughts of the poker players, and
+not concentrating on him at all. That was a relief. He felt, for the
+first time in days, as if he could think freely.
+
+The cowboy said: "Two," and took them. It was Her Majesty's turn.
+
+"I'll take two," she said, and threw away the three and four. It left
+her with the nine of spades and the nine of hearts, and the Jack of
+diamonds.
+
+These were joined, in a matter of seconds, by two bright new cards: the
+six of clubs and the three of hearts.
+
+Malone closed his eyes. Oh, well, he thought.
+
+It was only thirty bucks down the drain. Practically nothing.
+
+Of course Her Majesty dropped at once; knowing what the other players
+held, she knew she couldn't beat them after the draw. But she did like
+to take long chances, Malone thought miserably. Imagine trying to fill a
+full house on one pair!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Slowly, as the minutes passed, the pile of chips before Her Majesty
+dwindled. Once Malone saw her win with two pair against a reckless man
+trying to fill a straight on the other side of the table. But whatever
+was going on, Her Majesty's face was as calm as if she were asleep.
+
+Malone's worked overtime. If the Queen hadn't been losing so obviously,
+the dealer might have mistaken the play of naked emotion across his
+visage for a series of particularly obvious signals.
+
+An hour went by. Barbara left to find a ladies' lounge where she could
+sit down and try to relax. Fascinated in a horrible sort of way, both
+Malone and Boyd stood, rooted to the spot, while hand after hand went
+by and the ten thousand dollars dwindled to half that, to a quarter, and
+even less--
+
+Her Majesty, it seemed, was a mighty poor poker player.
+
+The ante had been raised by this time. Her Majesty was losing one
+hundred dollars a hand, even before the betting began. But she showed
+not the slightest indication to stop.
+
+"We've got to get up in the morning," Malone announced to no one in
+particular, when he thought he couldn't possibly stand another half hour
+of the game.
+
+"So we do," Her Majesty said with a little regretful sigh. "Very well,
+then. Just one more hand."
+
+"It's a shame to lose you," the cowboy said to her, quite sincerely. He
+had been winning steadily ever since Her Majesty sat down, and Malone
+thought that the man should, by this time, be awfully grateful to the
+United States Government. Somehow, he doubted that this gratitude
+existed.
+
+Malone wondered if she should be allowed to stay for one more hand.
+There was, he estimated, about two thousand dollars in front of her.
+Then he wondered how he was going to stop her.
+
+The cards were dealt.
+
+The first man said quietly: "Open for two hundred."
+
+Malone looked at the Queen's hand. It contained the Ace, King, Queen and
+ten of clubs--and the seven of spades.
+
+_Oh, no_, he thought. _She couldn't possibly be thinking of filling a
+flush._
+
+He knew perfectly well that she was.
+
+The second man said: "And raise two hundred."
+
+The Queen equably tossed--counting, Malone thought, the ante--five
+hundred into the pot.
+
+The cowboy muttered to himself for a second, and finally shoved in his
+money.
+
+"I think I'll raise it another five hundred," the Queen said calmly.
+
+Malone wanted to die of shock. Unfortunately, he remained alive and
+watching. He was the last man, after some debate internal, to shove a
+total of one thousand dollars into the pot.
+
+"Cards?" said the dealer.
+
+The first man said: "One."
+
+It was too much to hope for, Malone thought. If that first man were
+trying to fill a straight or a flush, maybe he wouldn't make it. And
+maybe something final would happen to all the other players. But that
+was the only way he could see for Her Majesty to win.
+
+The card was dealt. The second man stood pat and Malone's green tinge
+became obvious to the veriest dunce. The cowboy, on Her Majesty's right,
+asked for a card, received it and sat back without a trace of
+expression.
+
+The Queen said: "I'll try one for size." She'd picked up poker lingo,
+and the basic rules of the game, Malone realized, from the other
+players--or possibly from someone at the hospital itself, years ago.
+
+He wished she'd picked up something less dangerous instead, like a love
+of big-game hunting, or stunt-flying.
+
+But no. It had to be poker.
+
+The Queen threw away her seven of spades, showing more sense than Malone
+had given her credit for at any time during the game. She let the other
+card fall and didn't look at it.
+
+She smiled up at Malone and Boyd. "Live dangerously," she said gaily.
+
+Malone gave her a hollow laugh.
+
+The last man drew one card, too, and the betting began.
+
+The Queen's remaining thousand was gone before an eye could notice it.
+She turned to Boyd.
+
+"Sir Thomas," she said. "Another five thousand, please. At once."
+
+Boyd said nothing at all, but marched off. Malone noticed, however, that
+his step was neither as springy nor as confident as it had been before.
+For himself, Malone was sure that he could not walk at all.
+
+Maybe, he thought hopefully, the floor would open up and swallow them
+all. He tried to imagine explaining the loss of twenty thousand dollars
+to Burris and some congressmen, and after that he watched the floor
+narrowly, hoping for the smallest hint of a crack in the palazzo marble.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"May I raise the whole five thousand?" the Queen said.
+
+"It's O.K. with me," the dealer said. "How about the rest of you?"
+
+The four grunts he got expressed a suppressed eagerness. The Queen took
+the new chips Boyd had brought her and shoved them into the center of
+the table with a fine, careless gesture of her hand. She smiled gaily at
+everybody. "Seeing me?" she said.
+
+Everybody was.
+
+"Well, you see, it was this way," Malone muttered to himself,
+rehearsing. He half-thought that one of the others would raise again,
+but no one did. After all, each of them must be convinced that he held a
+great hand, and though raising had gone on throughout the hand, each
+must now be afraid of going the least little bit too far and scaring the
+others out.
+
+"Mr. Congressman," Malone muttered, "there's this game called poker. You
+play it with cards and money. Chiefly money."
+
+That wasn't any good.
+
+"You've been called," the dealer said to the first man, who'd opened the
+hand a year or so before.
+
+"Why, sure," the player said, and laid down a pair of aces, a pair of
+threes--and a four. One of the threes, and the four, were clubs. That
+reduced the already improbable chances of the Queen's coming up with a
+flush.
+
+"Sorry," said the second man, and laid down a straight with a single
+gesture. The straight was nine-high and there were no clubs in it.
+Malone felt devoutly thankful for that.
+
+The second man reached for the money but, under the popeyed gaze of the
+dealer, the fifth man laid down another straight--this one ten-high. The
+nine was a club. Malone felt the odds go down, right in his own stomach.
+
+And now the cowboy put down his cards. The King of diamonds. The King
+of hearts. The Jack of diamonds. The Jack of spades. And--the Jack of
+hearts.
+
+Full house. "Well," said the cowboy. "I suppose that does it."
+
+The Queen said: "Please. One moment."
+
+The cowboy stopped halfway in his reach for the enormous pile of chips.
+The Queen laid down her four clubs--Ace, King, Queen and ten--and for
+the first time flipped over her fifth card.
+
+It was the Jack of clubs.
+
+"My God," the cowboy said, and it sounded like a prayer. "A royal
+flush."
+
+"Naturally," the Queen said. "What else?"
+
+Her Majesty calmly scooped up the tremendous pile of chips. The cowboy's
+hands fell away. Five mouths were open around the table.
+
+Her Majesty stood up. She smiled sweetly at the men around the table.
+"Thank you very much, gentlemen," she said. She handed the chips to
+Malone, who took them in nerveless fingers. "Sir Kenneth," she said, "I
+hereby appoint you temporary Chancellor of the Exchequer--at least until
+Parliament convenes."
+
+There was, Malone thought, at least thirty-five thousand dollars in the
+pile. He could think of nothing to say.
+
+So, instead of using up words, he went and cashed in the chips. For
+once, he realized, the Government had made money on an investment. It
+was probably the first time since 1775.
+
+Malone thought vaguely that the Government ought to make more
+investments like the one he was cashing in. If it did, the National Debt
+could be wiped out in a matter of days.
+
+He brought the money back. Boyd and the Queen were waiting for him, but
+Barbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "She's on the way out," the
+Queen informed him, and, sure enough, in a minute they saw the figure
+approaching them. Malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, she smiled
+back. They began the long march to the exit of the club, slowly and
+regally, though not by choice.
+
+The crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go. Malone never found out, then
+or later, how the news of Her Majesty's winnings had gone through the
+place so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. The Queen was the
+recipient of several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and, when they
+reached the front door at last, the doorman said in a most respectful
+tone: "Good evening, Your Majesty."
+
+The Queen positively beamed at him. So, to his own great surprise, did
+Sir Kenneth Malone.
+
+Outside, it was about four in the morning. They climbed into the car and
+headed back toward the hotel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone was the first to speak. "How did you know that was a Jack of
+clubs?" he said in a strangled sort of voice.
+
+The little old lady said calmly: "He was cheating."
+
+"The dealer?" Malone asked.
+
+The little old lady nodded.
+
+"In _your_ favor?"
+
+"He couldn't have been cheating," Boyd said at the same instant. "Why
+would he want to give you all that money?"
+
+The little old lady shook her head. "He didn't want to give it to me,"
+she said. "He wanted to give it to the man in the cowboy's suit. His
+name is Elliott, by the way--Bernard L. Elliott. And he comes from
+Weehawken. But he pretends to be a Westerner so nobody will be
+suspicious of him. He and the dealer are in cahoots ... isn't that the
+word?"
+
+"Yes, Your Majesty," Boyd said. "That's the word." His tone was awed and
+respectful, and the little old lady gave a nod and became Queen
+Elizabeth I once more.
+
+"Well," she said, "the dealer and Mr. Elliott were in cahoots, and the
+dealer wanted to give the hand to Mr. Elliott. But he made a mistake,
+and dealt the Jack of clubs to me. I watched him, and, of course, I knew
+what he was thinking. The rest was easy."
+
+"My God," Malone said. "Easy."
+
+Barbara said: "Did she win?"
+
+"She won," Malone said with what he felt was positively magnificent
+understatement.
+
+"Good," Barbara said, and lost interest at once.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone had seen the lights of a car in the rear-view mirror a few
+minutes before. When he looked now, the lights were still there--but the
+fact just didn't register until, a couple of blocks later, the car began
+to pull around them on the left. It was a Buick, while Boyd's was a new
+Lincoln, but the edge wasn't too apparent yet.
+
+Malone spotted the gun barrel protruding from the Buick and yelled just
+before the first shot went off.
+
+Boyd, at the wheel, didn't even bother to look. His reflexes took over
+and he slammed his foot down on the brake. The specially-built FBI
+Lincoln slowed down instantly. The shotgun blast splattered the glass of
+the curved windshield all over--but none of it came into the car itself.
+
+Malone already had his hand on the butt of the .44 Magnum under his left
+armpit, and he even had time to be grateful, for once, that it wasn't a
+smallsword. The women were in the back seat, frozen, and he yelled:
+"Duck!" and felt, rather than saw, both of them sink down onto the floor
+of the car.
+
+The Buick had slowed down, too, and the gun barrel was swiveling back
+for a second shot. Malone felt naked and unprotected. The Buick and the
+Lincoln were even on the road now.
+
+Malone had his revolver out. He fired the first shot without even
+realizing fully that he'd done so, and he heard a piercing scream from
+Barbara in the back seat. He had no time to look back.
+
+A .44 Magnum is not, by any means, a small gun. As hand guns
+go--revolvers and automatics--it is about as large as a gun can get to
+be. An ordinary car has absolutely no chance against it.
+
+Much less the glass in an ordinary car.
+
+The first slug drilled its way through the window glass as though it
+were not there, and slammed its way through an even more unprotected
+obstacle, the frontal bones of the triggerman's skull. The second slug
+from Malone's gun missed the hole the first slug had made by something
+less than an inch.
+
+The big, apelike thug who was holding the shotgun had a chance to pull
+the trigger once more, but he wasn't aiming very well. The blast merely
+scored the paint off the top of the Lincoln.
+
+The rear window of the Buick was open, and Malone caught sight of
+another glint of blued steel from the corner of his eye. There was no
+time to shift aim--not with bullets flying like swallows on the way to
+Capistrano. Malone thought faster than he had ever imagined himself
+capable of doing, and decided to aim for the driver.
+
+Evidently the man in the rear seat of the Buick had had the same
+inspiration. Malone blasted two more high-velocity lead slugs at the
+driver of the big Buick, and at the same time the man in the Buick's
+rear seat fired at Boyd.
+
+But Boyd had shifted tactics. He'd hit the brakes. Now he came down hard
+on the accelerator instead.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The chorus of shrieks from the Lincoln's back seat increased slightly in
+volume. Barbara, Malone knew, wasn't badly hurt; she hadn't even stopped
+for breath since the first shot had been fired. Anybody who could scream
+like that, he told himself, had to be healthy.
+
+As the Lincoln leaped ahead, Malone pulled the trigger of his .44 twice
+more. The heavy, high-speed chunks of streamlined copper-coated lead
+leaped from the muzzle of the gun and slammed into the driver of the
+Buick without wasting any time. The Buick slewed across the highway.
+
+The two shots fired by the man in the back seat went past Malone's head
+with a _whizz_, missing both him and Boyd by a margin too narrow to
+think about.
+
+But those were the last shots. The only difference between the FBI and
+the Enemy seemed to be determination and practice.
+
+The Buick spun into a flat sideskid, swiveled on its wheels and slammed
+into the ditch at the side of the road, turning over and over, making a
+horrible noise, as it broke up.
+
+Boyd slowed the car again, just as there was a sudden blast of fire. The
+Buick had burst into flame and was spitting heat and smoke and fire in
+all directions. Malone sent one more bullet after it in a last flurry of
+action--saving his last one for possible later emergencies.
+
+Boyd jammed on the brakes and the Lincoln came to a screaming halt. In
+silence he and Malone watched the burning Buick roll over and over into
+the desert beyond the shoulder.
+
+"My God," Boyd said. "My ears!"
+
+Malone understood at once. The blast from his own still-smoking .44 had
+roared past Boyd's head during the gun battle. No wonder the man's ears
+hurt. It was a wonder he wasn't altogether deaf.
+
+But Boyd shook off the pain and brought out his own .44 as he stepped
+out of the car. Malone followed him, his gun trained.
+
+From the rear, Her Majesty said: "It's safe to rise now, isn't it?"
+
+"You ought to know," Malone said. "You can tell if they're still alive."
+
+There was silence while Queen Elizabeth frowned for a moment in
+concentration. A look of pain crossed her face, and then, as her
+expression smoothed again, she said: "The traitors are dead. All except
+one, and he's--" She paused. "He's dying," she finished. "He can't hurt
+you."
+
+There was no need for further battle. Malone reholstered his .44 and
+turned to Boyd. "Tom, call the State Police," he said. "Get 'em down
+here fast."
+
+He waited while Boyd climbed back under the wheel and began punching
+buttons on the dashboard. Then Malone went toward the burning Buick.
+
+He tried to drag the men out, but it wasn't any use. The first two, in
+the front seat, had the kind of holes in them people talked about
+throwing elephants through. Head and chest had been hit.
+
+Malone couldn't get close enough to the fiercely blazing automobile to
+make even a try for the men in the back seat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was sitting quietly on the edge of the rear seat when the Nevada
+Highway Patrol cars drove up next to them. Barbara Wilson had stopped
+screaming, but she was still sobbing on Malone's shoulder. "It's all
+right," he told her, feeling ineffectual.
+
+"I never saw anybody killed before," she said.
+
+"It's all right," Malone said. "Nothing's going to hurt you. I'll
+protect you."
+
+He wondered if he meant it, and found, to his surprise, that he did.
+Barbara Wilson sniffled and looked up at him. "Mr. Malone--"
+
+"Ken," he said.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said. "Ken--I'm so afraid. I saw the hole in one of the
+men's heads, when you fired ... it was--"
+
+"Don't think about it," Malone said. To him, the job had been an
+unpleasant occurrence, but a job, that was all. He could see, though,
+how it might affect people who were new to it.
+
+"You're so brave," she said.
+
+Malone tightened his arm around the girl's shoulder. "Just depend on
+me," he said. "You'll be all right if you--"
+
+The State Trooper walked up then, and looked at them. "Mr. Malone?" he
+said. He seemed to be taken slightly aback at the costuming.
+
+"That's right," Malone said. He pulled out his ID card and the little
+golden badge. The State Patrolman looked at them, and looked back at
+Malone.
+
+"What's with the getup?" he said.
+
+"FBI," Malone said, hoping his voice carried conviction. "Official
+business."
+
+"In costume?"
+
+"Never mind about the details," Malone snapped.
+
+"He's an FBI agent, sir," Barbara said.
+
+"And what are you?" the Patrolman said. "Lady Jane Grey?"
+
+"I'm a nurse," Barbara said. "A psychiatric nurse."
+
+"For nuts?"
+
+"For disturbed patients."
+
+The patrolman thought that over. "You've got the identity cards and
+stuff," he said at last. "Maybe you've got a reason to dress up. How
+would I know? I'm only a State Patrolman."
+
+"Let's cut the monologue," Malone said savagely, "and get to business."
+
+The patrolman stared. Then he said: "All right, sir. Yes, sir. I'm
+Lieutenant Adams, Mr. Malone. Suppose you tell me what happened?"
+
+Carefully and concisely, Malone told him the story of the Buick that had
+pulled up beside them, and what had happened afterward.
+
+Meanwhile, the other cops had been looking over the wreck. When Malone
+had finished his story, Lieutenant Adams flipped his notebook shut and
+looked over toward them. "I guess it's O.K., sir," he said. "As far as
+I'm concerned, it's justifiable homicide. Self-defense. Any reason why
+they'd want to kill you?"
+
+Malone thought about the Golden Palace. That might be a reason--but it
+might not. And why burden an innocent State Patrolman with the facts of
+FBI life?
+
+"Official," he said. "Your chief will get the report."
+
+The patrolman nodded. "I'll have to take a deposition tomorrow, but--"
+
+"I know," Malone said. "Thanks. Can we go on to our hotel now?"
+
+"I guess," the patrolman said. "Go ahead. We'll take care of the rest of
+this. You'll be getting a call later."
+
+"Fine," Malone said. "Trace those hoods, and any connections they might
+have had. Get the information to me as soon as possible."
+
+Lieutenant Adams nodded. "You won't have to leave the state, will you?"
+he asked. "I don't mean that you _can't_, exactly ... hell, you're FBI.
+But it'd be easier--"
+
+"Call Burris in Washington," Malone said. "He can get hold of me--and if
+the Governor wants to know where we are, or the State's Attorney, put
+them in touch with Burris, too. O.K.?"
+
+"O.K.," Lieutenant Adams said. "Sure." He blinked at Malone. "Listen,"
+he said. "About those costumes--"
+
+"We're trying to catch Henry VIII for the murder of Anne Boleyn," Malone
+said with a polite smile. "O.K.?"
+
+"I was only asking," Lieutenant Adams said. "Can't blame a man for
+asking, now, can you?"
+
+Malone climbed into his front seat. "Call me later," he said. The car
+started. "Back to the hotel, Sir Thomas," Malone said, and the car
+roared off.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+Yucca Flats, Malone thought, certainly deserved its name. It was about
+as flat as land could get, and it contained millions upon millions of
+useless yuccas. Perhaps they were good for something, Malone thought,
+but they weren't good for _him_.
+
+The place might, of course, have been called Cactus Flats, but the cacti
+were neither as big nor as impressive as the yuccas.
+
+[Illustration: "I knight thee Sir Andrew...."]
+
+Or was that yucci?
+
+Possibly, Malone mused, it was simply yucks.
+
+And whatever it was, there were millions of it. Malone felt he couldn't
+stand the sight of another yucca. He was grateful for only one thing.
+
+It wasn't summer. If the Elizabethans had been forced to drive in closed
+cars through the Nevada desert in the summertime, they might have
+started a cult of nudity, Malone felt. It was bad enough now, in what
+was supposed to be winter.
+
+The sun was certainly bright enough, for one thing. It glared through
+the cloudless sky and glanced with blinding force off the road. Sir
+Thomas Boyd squinted at it through the rather incongruous sunglasses he
+was wearing, while Malone wondered idly if it was the sunglasses, or the
+rest of the world, that was an anachronism. But Sir Thomas kept his eyes
+grimly on the road as he gunned the powerful Lincoln toward the Yucca
+Flats Labs at eighty miles an hour.
+
+Malone twisted himself around and faced the women in the back seat. Past
+them, through the rear window of the Lincoln, he could see the second
+car. It followed them gamely, carrying the newest addition to Sir
+Kenneth Malone's Collection of Bats.
+
+"Bats?" Her Majesty said suddenly, but gently. "Shame on you, Sir
+Kenneth. These are poor, sick people. We must do our best to help
+them--not to think up silly names for them. For shame!"
+
+"I suppose so," Malone said wearily. He sighed and, for the fifth time
+that day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty have any idea where our spy is
+now?"
+
+"Well, really, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said with the slightest of
+hesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy has certain laws, just
+like everything else. After all, even a game has laws. Being telepathic
+did not help me to play poker--I still had to learn the rules. And
+telepathy has rules, too. A telepath can easily confuse another telepath
+by using some of those rules."
+
+"Oh, fine," Malone said. "Well, have you got into contact with his mind
+yet?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Her Majesty said happily. "And my goodness, he's certainly
+digging up a lot of information, isn't he?"
+
+Malone moaned softly. "But who _is_ he?" he asked after a second.
+
+The Queen stared at the roof of the car in what looked like
+concentration. "He hasn't thought of his name yet," she said. "I mean,
+at least if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me. Really, Sir Kenneth,
+you have no idea how difficult all this is."
+
+Malone swallowed with difficulty. "_Where_ is he, then?" he said. "Can
+you tell me that, at least? His location?"
+
+Her Majesty looked positively desolated with sadness. "I can't be sure,"
+she said. "I really can't be exactly sure just where he is. He does keep
+moving around, I know that. But you have to remember that he doesn't
+want me to find him. He certainly doesn't want to be found by the FBI
+... would you?"
+
+"Your Majesty," Malone said, "I _am_ the FBI."
+
+"Yes," the Queen said, "but suppose you weren't? He's doing his best to
+hide himself, even from me. It's sort of a game he's playing."
+
+"A game!"
+
+Her Majesty looked contrite. "Believe me, Sir Kenneth, the minute I
+know exactly where he is, I'll tell you. I promise. Cross my heart and
+hope to die--which I can't, of course, being immortal." Nevertheless,
+she made an X-mark over her left breast. "All right?"
+
+"All right," Malone said, out of sheer necessity. "O.K. But don't waste
+any time telling me. Do it right away. We've _got_ to find that spy and
+isolate him somehow."
+
+"Please don't worry yourself, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "Your
+Queen is doing everything she can."
+
+"I know that, Your Majesty," Malone said. "I'm sure of it." Privately,
+he wondered just how much even she could do. Then he realized--for
+perhaps the ten-thousandth time--that there was no such thing as
+wondering privately any more.
+
+"That's quite right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said sweetly. "And it's
+about time you got used to it."
+
+"What's going on?" Boyd said. "More reading minds back there?"
+
+"That's right, Sir Thomas," the Queen said.
+
+"I've about gotten used to it," Boyd said almost cheerfully. "Pretty
+soon they'll come and take me away, but I don't mind at all." He whipped
+the car around a bend in the road savagely. "Pretty soon they'll put me
+with the other sane people and let the bats inherit the world. But I
+don't mind at all."
+
+"Sir Thomas!" Her Majesty said in shocked tones.
+
+"Please," Boyd said with a deceptive calmness. "Just Mr. Boyd. Not even
+Lieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if you prefer,
+Tom."
+
+"Sir Thomas," Her Majesty said, "I really can't understand this
+sudden--"
+
+"Then don't understand it," Boyd said. "All I know is everybody's nuts,
+and I'm sick and tired of it."
+
+A pall of silence fell over the company.
+
+"Look, Tom," Malone began at last.
+
+"Don't you try smoothing me down," Boyd snapped.
+
+Malone's eyebrows rose. "O.K.," he said. "I won't smooth you down. I'll
+just tell you to shut up, to keep driving--and to show some respect to
+Her Majesty."
+
+"I--" Boyd stopped. There was a second of silence.
+
+"_That's_ better," Her Majesty said with satisfaction.
+
+Lady Barbara stretched in the back seat, next to Her Majesty. "This is
+certainly a long drive," she said. "Have we got much farther to go?"
+
+"Not too far," Malone said. "We ought to be there soon."
+
+"I ... I'm sorry for the way I acted," Barbara said.
+
+"What do you mean, the way you acted?"
+
+"Crying like that," Barbara said with some hesitation. "Making
+an--absolute idiot of myself. When that other car--tried to get us."
+
+"Don't worry about it," Malone said. "It was nothing."
+
+"I just--made trouble for you," Barbara said.
+
+Her Majesty touched the girl on the shoulder. "He's not thinking about
+the trouble you cause him," she said quietly.
+
+"Of course I'm not," Malone told her.
+
+"But I--"
+
+"My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I believe that Sir Kenneth is, at
+least partly, in love with you."
+
+Malone blinked. It was perfectly true--even if he hadn't quite known it
+himself until now. Telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionally
+handy things to have around.
+
+"In ... love--" Barbara said.
+
+"And you, my dear--" Her Majesty began.
+
+"Please, Your Majesty," Lady Barbara said. "No more. Not just now."
+
+The Queen smiled, almost to herself. "Certainly, dear," she said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The car sped on. In the distance, Malone could see the blot on the
+desert that indicated the broad expanse of Yucca Flats Labs. Just the
+fact that it could be seen, he knew, didn't mean an awful lot. Malone
+had been able to see it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn't look
+as if they'd gained an inch on it. Desert distances are deceptive.
+
+At long last, however, the main gate of the laboratories hove into view.
+Boyd made a left turn off the highway and drove a full seven miles along
+the restricted road, right up to the big gate that marked the entrance
+of the laboratories themselves. Once again, they were faced with the
+army of suspicious guards and security officers.
+
+This time, suspicion was somewhat heightened by the dress of the
+visitors. Malone had to explain about six times that the costumes were
+part of an FBI arrangement, that he had not stolen his identity cards,
+that Boyd's cards were Boyd's, too, and in general that the four of them
+were not insane, not spies, and not jokesters out for a lark in the
+sunshine.
+
+Malone had expected all of that. He went through the rigmarole wearily
+but without any sense of surprise. The one thing he hadn't been
+expecting was the man who was waiting for him on the other side of the
+gate.
+
+When he'd finished identifying everybody for the fifth or sixth time, he
+began to climb back into the car. A familiar voice stopped him cold.
+
+"Just a minute, Malone," Andrew J. Burris said. He erupted from the
+guardhouse like an avenging angel, followed closely by a thin man, about
+five feet ten inches in height, with brush-cut brown hair, round
+horn-rimmed spectacles, large hands and a small Sir Francis Drake beard.
+Malone looked at the two figures blankly.
+
+"Something wrong, chief?" he said.
+
+Burris came toward the car. The thin gentleman followed him, walking
+with an odd bouncing step that must have been acquired, Malone thought,
+over years of treading on rubber eggs. "I don't know," Burris said when
+he'd reached the door. "When I was in Washington, I seemed to know--but
+when I get out here in this desert, everything just goes haywire." He
+rubbed at his forehead.
+
+Then he looked into the car. "Hello, Boyd," he said pleasantly.
+
+"Hello, chief," Boyd said.
+
+Burris blinked. "Boyd, you look like Henry VIII," he said with only the
+faintest trace of surprise.
+
+"Doesn't he, though?" Her Majesty said from the rear seat. "I've noticed
+that resemblance myself."
+
+Burris gave her a tiny smile. "Oh," he said. "Hello, Your Majesty.
+I'm--"
+
+"Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI," the Queen finished for him.
+"Yes, I know. It's very nice to meet you at last. I've seen you on
+television, and over the video phone. You photograph badly, you know."
+
+"I do?" Burris said pleasantly. It was obvious that he was keeping
+himself under very tight control.
+
+Malone felt remotely sorry for the man--but only remotely. Burris might
+as well know, he thought, what they had all been going through the past
+several days.
+
+Her Majesty was saying something about the honorable estate of
+knighthood, and the Queen's List. Malone began paying attention when she
+came to: "... And I hereby dub thee--" She stopped suddenly, turned and
+said: "Sir Kenneth, give me your weapon."
+
+Malone hesitated for a long, long second. But Burris' eye was on him,
+and he could interpret the look without much trouble. There was only one
+thing for him to do. He pulled out his .44, ejected the remaining
+cartridge in his palm--and reminded himself to reload the gun as soon as
+he got it back--and handed the weapon to the Queen, butt foremost.
+
+She took the butt of the revolver in her right hand, leaned out the
+window of the car, and said in a fine, distinct voice: "Kneel, Andrew."
+
+Malone watched with wide, astonished eyes as Andrew J. Burris, Director
+of the FBI, went to one knee in a low and solemn genuflection. Queen
+Elizabeth Thompson nodded her satisfaction.
+
+She tapped Burris gently on each shoulder with the muzzle of the gun. "I
+knight thee Sir Andrew," she said. She cleared her throat. "My, this
+desert air is dry--Rise, Sir Andrew, and know that you are henceforth
+Knight Commander of the Queen's Own FBI."
+
+"Thank you, Your Majesty," Burris said humbly.
+
+He rose to his feet silently. The Queen withdrew into the car again and
+handed the gun back to Malone. He thumbed cartridges into the chambers
+of the cylinder and listened dumbly.
+
+"Your Majesty," Burris said, "this is Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of
+Project Isle. Dr. Gamble, this is Her Majesty the Queen; Lady Barbara
+Wilson, her ... uh ... her lady in waiting; Sir Kenneth Malone; and King
+... I mean Sir Thomas Boyd." He gave the four a single bright impartial
+smile. Then he tore his eyes away from the others, and bent his gaze on
+Sir Kenneth Malone. "Come over here a minute, Malone," he said, jerking
+his thumb over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone climbed out of the car and went around to meet Burris. He felt
+just a little worried as he followed the Director away from the car.
+True, he had sent Burris a long telegram the night before, in code. But
+he hadn't expected the man to show up at Yucca Flats. There didn't seem
+to be any reason for it.
+
+And when there isn't any reason, Malone told himself sagely, it's a bad
+one.
+
+"What's the trouble, chief?" he asked.
+
+Burris sighed. "None so far," he said quietly. "I got a report from the
+Nevada State Patrol, and ran it through R&I. They identified the men you
+killed, all right--but it didn't do us any good. They're hired hoods."
+
+"Who hired them?" Malone said.
+
+Burris shrugged. "Somebody with money," he said. "Hell, men like that
+would kill their own grandmothers if the price were right--you know
+that. We can't trace them back any farther."
+
+Malone nodded. That was, he had to admit, bad news. But then, when had
+he last had any good news?
+
+"We're nowhere near our telepathic spy," Burris said. "We haven't come
+any closer than we were when we started. Have you got anything? Anything
+at all, no matter how small?"
+
+"Not that I know of, sir," Malone said.
+
+"What about the little old lady ... what's her name? Thompson. Anything
+from her?"
+
+Malone hesitated. "She has a close fix on the spy, sir," he said slowly,
+"but she doesn't seem able to identify him right away."
+
+"What else does she want?" Burris said. "We've made her Queen and given
+her a full retinue in costume; we've let her play roulette and poker
+with Government money. Does she want to hold a mass execution? If she
+does, I can supply some congressmen, Malone. I'm sure it could be
+arranged." He looked at the agent narrowly. "I might even be able to
+supply an FBI man or two," he added.
+
+Malone swallowed hard. "I'm trying the best I can, sir," he said. "What
+about the others?"
+
+Burris looked even unhappier than usual. "Come along," he said. "I'll
+show you."
+
+When they got back to the car, Dr. Gamble was talking spiritedly with
+Her Majesty about Roger Bacon. "Before my time, of course," the Queen
+was saying, "but I'm sure he was a most interesting man. Now when dear
+old Marlowe wrote his 'Faust,' he and I had several long discussions
+about such matters. Alchemy--"
+
+Burris interrupted with: "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but we must
+get on. Perhaps you'll be able to continue your ... ah ... audience
+later." He turned to Boyd. "Sir Thomas," he said with an effort, "drive
+directly to the Westinghouse buildings. Over that way." He pointed. "Dr.
+Gamble will ride with you, and the rest of us will follow in the second
+car. Let's move."
+
+He stepped back as the project head got into the car, and watched it
+roar off. Then he and Malone went to the second car, another FBI
+Lincoln. Two agents were sitting in the back seat, with a still figure
+between them.
+
+With a shock, Malone recognized William Logan and the agents he'd
+detailed to watch the telepath. Logan's face did not seem to have
+changed expression since Malone had seen it last, and he wondered wildly
+if perhaps it had to be dusted once a week.
+
+He got in behind the wheel and Burris slid in next to him.
+
+"Westinghouse." Burris said. "And let's get there in a hurry."
+
+"Right," Malone said, and started the car.
+
+"We just haven't had a single lead," Burris said. "I was hoping you'd
+come up with something. Your telegram detailed the fight, of course, and
+the rest of what's been happening--but I hoped there'd be something
+more."
+
+"There isn't," Malone was forced to admit. "All we can do is try to
+persuade Her Majesty to tell us--"
+
+"Oh, I know it isn't easy," Burris said. "But it seems to me--"
+
+By the time they'd arrived at the administrative offices of
+Westinghouse's psionics research area, Malone found himself wishing that
+something would happen. Possibly, he thought, lightning might strike, or
+an earthquake swallow everything up. He was, suddenly, profoundly tired
+of the entire affair.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+Four days later, he was more than tired. He was exhausted. The six
+psychopaths--including Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I--had been housed in
+a converted dormitory in the Westinghouse area, together with four
+highly nervous and even more highly trained and investigated
+psychiatrists from St. Elizabeths in Washington. The Convention of Nuts,
+as Malone called it privately, was in full swing. And it was every bit
+as strange as he'd thought it was going to be. Unfortunately, five of
+the six--Her Majesty being the only exception--were completely out of
+contact with the world. The psychiatrists referred to them in worried
+tones as "unavailable for therapy," and spent most of their time
+brooding over possible ways of bringing them back into the real world
+for a while.
+
+Malone stayed away from the five who were completely psychotic. The
+weird babblings of fifty-year-old Barry Miles disconcerted him. They
+sounded like little Charlie O'Neill's strange semi-connected jabber, but
+Westinghouse's Dr. O'Connor said that it seemed to represent another
+phenomenon entirely. William Logan's blank face was a memory of horror,
+but the constant tinkling giggles of Ardith Parker, the studied and
+concentrated way that Gordon Macklin wove meaningless patterns in the
+air with his waving fingers, and the rhythmless, melodyless humming that
+seemed to be all there was to the personality of Robert Cassiday were
+simply too much for Malone. Taken singly, each was frightening and
+remote; all together, they wove a picture of insanity that chilled him
+more than he wanted to admit.
+
+When the seventh telepath was flown in from Honolulu, Malone didn't even
+bother to see her. He let the psychiatrists take over directly, and
+simply avoided their sessions.
+
+Queen Elizabeth I, on the other hand, he found genuinely likeable.
+According to the psych boys, she had been--as both Malone and Her
+Majesty had theorized--heavily frustrated by being the possessor of a
+talent which no one else recognized. Beyond that, the impact of other
+minds was disturbing; there was a slight loss of identity which seemed
+to be a major factor in every case of telepathic insanity. But the Queen
+had compensated for her frustrations in the easiest possible way; she
+had simply traded her identity for another one, and had rationalized a
+single, over-ruling delusion: that she was Queen Elizabeth I of England,
+still alive and wrongfully deprived of her throne.
+
+"It's a beautiful rationalization," one of the psychiatrists said with
+more than a trace of admiration in his voice. "Complete and thoroughly
+consistent. She's just traded identities--and everything else she
+does--_everything_ else--stems logically out of her delusional premise.
+Beautiful."
+
+She might have been crazy, Malone realized. But she was a long way from
+stupid.
+
+The project was in full swing. The only trouble was that they were no
+nearer finding the telepath than they had been three weeks before. With
+five completely blank human beings to work with, and the sixth Queen
+Elizabeth (Malone heard privately that the last telepath, the girl from
+Honolulu, was no better than the first five; she had apparently
+regressed into what one of the psychiatrists called a "non-identity
+childhood syndrome." Malone didn't know what it meant, but it sounded
+terrible.) Malone could see why progress was their most difficult
+commodity.
+
+Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of Project Isle, was losing poundage by the
+hour with worry. And, Malone reflected, he could ill afford it.
+
+Burris, Malone and Boyd had set themselves up in a temporary office
+within the Westinghouse area. The director had left his assistant in
+charge in Washington. Nothing, he said over and over again, was as
+important as the spy in Project Isle.
+
+Apparently Boyd had come to believe that, too. At any rate, though he
+was still truculent, there were no more outbursts of rebellion.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But, on the fourth day:
+
+"What do we do now?" Burris asked.
+
+"Shoot ourselves," Boyd said promptly.
+
+"Now, look here--" Malone began, but he was overruled.
+
+"Boyd," Burris said levelly, "if I hear any more of that sort of
+pessimism, you're going to be an exception to the beard rule. One more
+crack out of you, and you can go out and buy yourself a razor."
+
+Boyd put his hand over his chin protectively, and said nothing at all.
+
+"Wait a minute," Malone said. "Aren't there any _sane_ telepaths in the
+world?"
+
+"We can't find any," Burris said. "We--"
+
+There was a knock at the office door.
+
+"Who's there?" Burris called.
+
+"Dr. Gamble," said the man's surprisingly baritone voice.
+
+Burris called: "Come in, doctor," and the door opened. Dr. Gamble's lean
+face looked almost haggard.
+
+"Mr. Burris," he said, extending his arms a trifle, "can't anything be
+done?" Malone had seen Gamble speaking before, and had wondered if it
+would be possible for the man to talk with his hands tied behind his
+back. Apparently it wouldn't be. "We feel that we are approaching a
+critical stage in Project Isle," the scientist said, enclosing one fist
+within the other hand. "If anything more gets out to the Soviets, we
+might as well publish our findings"--a wide, outflung gesture of both
+arms--"in the newspapers."
+
+Burris stepped back. "We're doing the best we can, Dr. Gamble," he said.
+All things considered, his obvious try at radiating confidence was
+nearly successful. "After all," he went on, "we know a great deal more
+than we did four days ago. Miss Thompson has assured us that the spy is
+right here, within the compound of Yucca Flats Labs. We've bottled
+everything up in this compound, and I'm confident that no information is
+at present getting through to the Soviet Government. Miss Thompson
+agrees with me."
+
+"Miss Thompson?" Gamble said, one hand at his bearded chin.
+
+"The Queen," Burris said.
+
+Gamble nodded and two fingers touched his forehead. "Ah," he said. "Of
+course." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "But we can't keep everybody
+who's here now locked up forever. Sooner or later we'll have to let
+them"--his left hand described the gesture of a man tossing away a wad
+of paper--"go." His hands fell to his sides. "We're lost, unless we can
+find that spy."
+
+"We'll find him," Burris said with a show of great confidence.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Give her time," Burris said. "Give her time. Remember her mental
+condition."
+
+Boyd looked up. "Rome," he said in an absent fashion, "wasn't built in a
+daze."
+
+Burris glared at him, but said nothing. Malone filled the conversational
+hole with what he thought would be nice, and hopeful, and untrue.
+
+"We know he's someone on the reservation, so we'll catch him
+eventually," he said. "And as long as his information isn't getting into
+Soviet hands, we're safe." He glanced at his wrist watch.
+
+Dr. Gamble said: "But--"
+
+"My, my," Malone said. "Almost lunchtime. I have to go over and have
+lunch with Her Majesty. Maybe she's dug up something more."
+
+"I hope so," Dr. Gamble said, apparently successfully deflected. "I do
+hope so."
+
+[Illustration: "One more crack out of you...."]
+
+"Well," Malone said, "pardon me." He shucked off his coat and trousers.
+Then he proceeded to put on the doublet and hose that hung in the little
+office closet. He shrugged into the fur-trimmed, slash-sleeved coat,
+adjusted the plumed hat to his satisfaction with great care, and gave
+Burris and the others a small bow. "I go to an audience with Her
+Majesty, gentlemen," he said in a grave, well-modulated voice. "I shall
+return anon."
+
+He went out the door and closed it carefully behind him. When he had
+gone a few steps he allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Then he went outside and across the dusty street to the barracks where
+Her Majesty and the other telepaths were housed. No one paid any
+attention to him, and he rather missed the stares he'd become used to
+drawing. But by now, everyone was used to seeing Elizabethan clothing.
+Her Majesty had arrived at a new plateau.
+
+She would now allow no one to have audience with her unless he was
+properly dressed. Even the psychiatrists--whom she had, with a careful
+sense of meiosis, appointed Physicians to the Royal House--had to wear
+the stuff.
+
+Malone went over the whole case in his mind--for about the thousandth
+time, he told himself bitterly.
+
+Who could the telepathic spy be? It was like looking for a needle in a
+rolling stone, he thought. Or something. He did remember clearly that a
+stitch in time saved nine, but he didn't know nine what, and suspected
+it had nothing to do with his present problem.
+
+How about Dr. Harry Gamble, Malone thought. It seemed a little unlikely
+that the head of Project Isle would be spying on his own
+men--particularly since he already had all the information. But, on the
+other hand, he was just as probable a spy as anybody else.
+
+Malone moved onward. Dr. Thomas O'Connor, the Westinghouse psionics man,
+was the next nominee. Before Malone had actually found Her Majesty, he
+had had a suspicion that O'Connor had cooked the whole thing up to throw
+the FBI off the trail and confuse everybody, and that he'd intended
+merely to have the FBI chase ghosts while the real spy did his work
+undetected.
+
+But what if O'Connor were the spy himself--a telepath? What if he were
+so confident of his ability to throw the Queen off the track that he had
+allowed the FBI to find all the other telepaths? There was another
+argument for that: he'd had to report the findings of his machine no
+matter what it cost him; there were too many other men on his staff who
+knew about it.
+
+O'Connor was a perfectly plausible spy, too. But he didn't seem very
+likely. The head of a Government project is likely to be a
+much-investigated man. Could any tie-up with Russia--even a psionic
+one--stand against that kind of investigation? Malone doubted it.
+
+Malone thought of the psychiatrists. There wasn't any evidence, that was
+the trouble. There wasn't any evidence either way.
+
+Then he wondered if Boyd had been thinking of him, Malone, as the
+possible spy. Certainly it worked in reverse. Boyd--
+
+No. That was silly.
+
+Malone told himself that he might as well consider Andrew J. Burris.
+
+Ridiculous. Absolutely ridic--
+
+Well, Queen Elizabeth had seemed pretty certain when she'd pointed him
+out in Dr. Dowson's office. And even though she'd changed her mind, how
+much faith could be placed in Her Majesty? After all, if she'd made a
+mistake about Burris, she could just as easily have made a mistake about
+the spy's being at Yucca Flats. In that case, Malone thought sadly, they
+were right back where they'd started from.
+
+Behind their own goal line.
+
+One way or another, though, Her Majesty had made a mistake. She'd
+pointed Burris out as the spy, and then she'd said she'd been wrong.
+Either Burris was a spy or he wasn't. You couldn't have it both ways.
+
+Why couldn't you? Malone thought suddenly. And then something Burris
+himself had said came back to him, something that--
+
+_I'll be damned_, he thought.
+
+He came to a dead stop in the middle of the street. In one sudden flash
+of insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking at for so long
+fell together and formed one consistent picture. The pattern was
+complete.
+
+Malone blinked.
+
+In that second, he knew exactly who the spy was.
+
+A jeep honked raucously and swerved around him. The driver leaned out to
+curse and remained to stare. Malone was already halfway back to the
+offices.
+
+On the way, he stopped in at another small office, this one inhabited by
+the two FBI men from Las Vegas. He gave a series of quick orders, and
+got the satisfaction, as he left, of seeing one of the FBI men grabbing
+for a phone in a hurry. It was good to be _doing_ things again,
+important things.
+
+Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were still talking as Malone entered.
+
+"That," Burris said, "was one hell of a quick lunch. What's Her Majesty
+doing now--running a diner?"
+
+Malone ignored the bait. "Gentlemen," he said solemnly, "Her Majesty has
+asked that all of us attend her in audience. She has information of the
+utmost gravity to impart, and wishes an audience at once."
+
+Burris looked startled. "Has she--" he began, and stopped, leaving his
+mouth open and the rest of the sentence unfinished.
+
+Malone nodded gravely. "I believe, gentlemen," he said, "that Her
+Majesty is about to reveal the identity of the spy who has been
+battening on Project Isle."
+
+The silence didn't last three seconds.
+
+"Let's go," Burris snapped. He and the others headed for the door.
+
+"Gentlemen!" Malone sounded properly shocked and offended. "Your dress!"
+
+"Oh, _no_," Boyd said. "Not now."
+
+Burris simply said: "You're quite right. Get dressed, Boyd ... I mean,
+of course, Sir Thomas."
+
+While Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were dressing, Malone put in a call to
+Dr. O'Connor and told him to be at Her Majesty's court in ten
+minutes--and in full panoply. O'Connor, not unnaturally, balked a little
+at first. But Malone talked fast and sounded as urgent as he felt. At
+last he got the psionicist's agreement.
+
+Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabeths
+and told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands of
+neurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply.
+
+Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was assembled. Even Burris
+and the others were ready to go. Beaming, he led them out.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten minutes later, there were nine men in Elizabethan costume standing
+outside the room which had been designated as the Queen's Court. Dr.
+Gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve ruffs were halfway up
+to his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. The
+St. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little like
+moth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over with
+a somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the whole
+problem that had been plaguing them, but _his_ costume was a stunning,
+perfect fit.
+
+"Now, I want you men to let me handle this," Malone said. "I know just
+what I want to say, and I think I can get the information without too
+much trouble."
+
+One of the psychiatrists spoke up. "I trust you won't disturb the
+patient, Mr. Malone," he said.
+
+"Sir Kenneth," Malone snapped.
+
+The psychiatrist looked both abashed and worried. "I'm sorry," he said
+doubtfully.
+
+Malone nodded. "That's all right," he said. "I'll try not to disturb Her
+Majesty unduly."
+
+The psychiatrists conferred. When they came out of the huddle one of
+them--Malone was never able to tell them apart--said: "Very well, we'll
+let you handle it. But we will be forced to interfere if we feel you're
+... ah ... going too far."
+
+Malone said: "That's fair enough, gentlemen. Let's go."
+
+He opened the door.
+
+It was a magnificent room. The whole place had been done over in plastic
+and synthetic fibers to look like something out of the Sixteenth
+Century. It was as garish, and as perfect, as a Hollywood movie
+set--which wasn't surprising, since two stage designers had been hired
+away from color-TV spectaculars to set it up. At the far end of the
+room, past the rich hangings and the flaming chandeliers, was a great
+throne, and on it Her Majesty was seated. Lady Barbara reclined on the
+steps at her feet.
+
+Malone saw the expression on Her Majesty's face. He wanted to talk to
+Barbara--but there wasn't time. Later, there might be. Now, he collected
+his mind and drove one thought at the Queen, one single powerful
+thought:
+
+_Read me! You know by this time that I have the truth--but read deeper!_
+
+The expression on her face changed suddenly. She was smiling a sad,
+gentle little smile. Lady Barbara, who had looked up at the approach of
+Sir Kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained on
+Malone. "You may approach, my lords," said the Queen.
+
+Sir Kenneth led the procession, with Sir Thomas and Sir Andrew close
+behind him. O'Connor and Gamble came next, and bringing up the rear were
+the four psychiatrists. They strode slowly along the red carpet that
+stretched from the door to the foot of the throne. They came to a halt a
+few feet from the steps leading up to the throne, and bowed in unison.
+
+"You may explain, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said.
+
+"Your Majesty understands the conditions?" Malone asked.
+
+"Perfectly," said the Queen. "Proceed."
+
+Now the expression on Barbara's face changed, to wonder and a kind of
+fright. Malone didn't look at her. Instead, he turned to Dr. O'Connor.
+
+"Dr. O'Connor, what are your plans for the telepaths who have been
+brought here?" He shot the question out quickly, and O'Connor was caught
+off-balance.
+
+"Well ... ah ... we would like their co-operation in further research
+which we ... ah ... plan to do into the actual mechanisms of telepathy.
+Provided, of course"--he coughed gently--"provided that they become ...
+ah ... accessible. Miss ... I mean, of course, Her Majesty has ...
+already been a great deal of help." He gave Malone an odd look. It
+seemed to say: _what's coming next?_
+
+Malone simply gave him a nod, and a "Thank you, doctor," and turned to
+Burris. He could feel Barbara's eyes on him, but he went on with his
+prepared questions. "Chief," he said, "what about you? After we nail our
+spy, what happens ... to Her Majesty, I mean? You don't intend to stop
+giving her the homage due her, do you?"
+
+Burris stared, openmouthed. After a second he managed to say: "Why, no,
+of course not, Sir Kenneth. That is"--and he glanced over at the
+psychiatrists--"if the doctors think--"
+
+There was another hurried consultation. The four psychiatrists came out
+of it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatments
+which had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to be
+discontinued, although of course there was always the chance that--
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," Malone said smoothly. He could see that they
+were nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult it was for a
+psychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. But they'd already
+realized that it didn't make any difference; their thoughts were an open
+book, anyway.
+
+Lady Barbara said: "Sir ... I mean Ken ... are you going to--"
+
+"What's this all about?" Burris snapped.
+
+"Just a minute, Sir Andrew," Malone said. "I'd like to ask one of the
+doctors here--or all of them, for that matter--one more question." He
+whirled and faced them. "I'm assuming that not one of these persons is
+legally responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"
+
+Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning to remind Malone
+of a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms.
+
+Finally one of them said: "You are correct. According to the latest
+statutes, all of these persons are legally insane--including Her
+Majesty." He paused and gulped. "I except the FBI, of course--and
+ourselves." Another pause. "And Dr. O'Connor and Dr. Gamble."
+
+"And," said Lady Barbara, "me." She smiled sweetly at them all.
+
+"Ah," the psychiatrist said. "Certainly. Of course." He retired into his
+group with some confusion.
+
+Malone was looking straight at the throne. Her Majesty's countenance was
+serene and unruffled.
+
+Barbara said suddenly: "You don't mean ... but she--" and closed her
+mouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen.
+
+"Well, Your Majesty?" he said. "You have seen the thoughts of every man
+here. How do they appear to you?"
+
+Her voice contained both tension and relief. "They are all good men,
+basically--and kind men," she said. "And they believe us. That's the
+important thing, you know. Their belief in us-- Just as you did that
+first day we met. We've needed belief for so long ... for so long--" Her
+voice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a constellation of
+thoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her Majesty.
+
+Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. "How about the
+spy?" he said.
+
+Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenly
+forward. "That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity because
+of insanity," he whispered. "Because--"
+
+"No," Barbara said. "No. She couldn't ... she's not--"
+
+They were all looking at Her Majesty, now. She returned them stare for
+stare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in the
+room's light. "Sir Kenneth," she said--and her voice was only the least
+bit unsteady--"they all think _I'm_ the spy."
+
+Barbara stood up. "Listen," she said. "I didn't like Her Majesty at
+first ... well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when she
+started putting on airs ... but since I've gotten to know her I do like
+her. I like her because she's good and kind herself, and because ...
+because she wouldn't be a spy. She couldn't be. No matter what any of
+you think ... even you ... Sir Kenneth!"
+
+There was a second of silence.
+
+"Of course she's not," Malone said quietly. "She's no spy."
+
+"Would I spy on my own subjects?" she said. "Use your reason!"
+
+"You mean...." Burris began, and Boyd finished for him:
+
+"... She isn't?"
+
+"No," Malone snapped. "She isn't. Remember, you said it would take a
+telepath to catch a telepath?"
+
+"Well--" Burris began.
+
+"Well, Her Majesty remembered it," Malone said. "And acted on it."
+
+Barbara remained standing. She went to the Queen and put an arm around
+the little old lady's shoulder. Her Majesty did not object. "I knew,"
+she said. "You couldn't have been a spy."
+
+"Listen, dear," the Queen said. "Your Kenneth has seen the truth of the
+matter. Listen to him."
+
+"Her Majesty not only caught the spy," Malone said, "but she turned the
+spy right over to us."
+
+He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door. _I
+really ought to get a sword_, he thought, and didn't see Her Majesty
+smile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said quietly: "Bring
+him in, boys."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The FBI men from Las Vegas marched in. Between them was their prisoner,
+a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a strait jacket that seemed to make
+no difference at all to him. His mind was--somewhere else. But his body
+was trapped between the FBI agents: the body of William Logan.
+
+"Impossible," one of the psychiatrists said.
+
+Malone spun on his heel and led the way back to the throne. Logan and
+his guards followed closely.
+
+"Your Majesty," Malone said, "may I present the prisoner?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "Poor Willie is your
+spy. You won't be too hard on him, will you?"
+
+"I don't think so. Your Majesty," Malone said. "After all--"
+
+"Now wait a minute," Burris exploded. "How did _you_ know any of this?"
+
+Malone bowed to Her Majesty, and winked at Barbara. He turned to Burris.
+"Well," he said, "I had one piece of information none of the rest of you
+had. When we were in the Desert Edge Sanitarium, Dr. Dowson called you
+on the phone. Remember?"
+
+"Sure I remember," Burris said. "So?"
+
+"Well," Malone said, "Her Majesty said she knew just where the spy was.
+I asked her where--"
+
+"Why didn't you tell me?" Burris screamed. "You knew all this time and
+you didn't tell me?"
+
+"Hold on," Malone said. "I asked her where--and she said: 'He's right
+there.' And she was pointing right at your image on the screen."
+
+Burris opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it and tried again.
+At last he managed one word.
+
+"Me?" he said.
+
+"You," Malone said. "But that's what I realized later. She wasn't
+pointing at you. She was pointing at Logan, who was in the next room."
+
+Barbara whispered: "Is that right, Your Majesty?"
+
+"Certainly, dear," the Queen said calmly. "Would I lie to Sir Kenneth?"
+
+Malone was still talking. "The thing that set me off this noon was
+something you said, Sir Andrew," he went on. "You said there weren't any
+sane telepaths--remember?"
+
+Burris, incapable of speech, merely nodded.
+
+"But according to Her Majesty," Malone said, "we had every telepath in
+the United States right here. She told me that--and I didn't even see
+it!"
+
+"Don't blame yourself, Sir Kenneth," the Queen put in. "I did do my best
+to mislead you, you know."
+
+"You sure did!" Malone said. "And later on, when we were driving here,
+you said the spy was 'moving around.' That's right; he was in the car
+behind us, going eighty miles an hour."
+
+Barbara stared. Malone got a lot of satisfaction out of that stare. But
+there was still more ground to cover.
+
+"Then," he said, "you told us he was here at Yucca Flats--after we
+brought him here! It had to be one of the other six telepaths."
+
+The psychiatrist who'd muttered: "Impossible," was still muttering it.
+Malone ignored him.
+
+"And when I remembered her pointing at you," Malone told Burris, "and
+remembered that she'd only said: 'He's right there,' I knew it had to be
+Logan. You weren't there. You were only an image on a TV screen. Logan
+was there--in the room behind the phone."
+
+Burris had found his tongue. "All right," he said. "O.K. But what's all
+this about misleading us--and why didn't she tell us right away,
+anyhow?"
+
+Malone turned to Her Majesty on the throne. "I think that the Queen had
+better explain that--if she will."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Queen Elizabeth Thompson nodded very slowly. "I ... I only wanted you to
+respect me," she said. "To treat me properly." Her voice sounded uneven,
+and her eyes were glistening with unspilled tears. Lady Barbara
+tightened her arm about the Queen's shoulders once more.
+
+"It's all right," she said. "We do--respect you."
+
+The Queen smiled up at her.
+
+Malone waited. After a second Her Majesty continued.
+
+"I was afraid that as soon as you found poor Willie you'd send me back
+to the hospital," she said. "And Willie couldn't tell the Russian agents
+any more once he'd been taken away. So I thought I'd just ... just let
+things stay the way they were as long as I could. That's ... that's
+all."
+
+Malone nodded. After a second he said: "You see that we couldn't
+possibly send you back now, don't you?"
+
+"I--"
+
+"You know all the State Secrets, Your Majesty," Malone said. "We would
+rather that Dr. Harman in San Francisco didn't try to talk you out of
+them. Or anyone else."
+
+The Queen smiled tremulously. "I know too much, do I?" she said. Then
+her grin faded. "Poor Dr. Harman," she said.
+
+"Poor Dr. Harman?"
+
+"You'll hear about him in a day or so," she said. "I ... peeked inside
+his mind. He's very ill."
+
+"Ill?" Lady Barbara asked.
+
+"Oh, yes," the Queen said. The trace of a smile appeared on her face.
+"He thinks that all the patients in the hospital can see inside his
+mind."
+
+"Oh, my," Lady Barbara said--and began to laugh. It was the nicest sound
+Malone had ever heard.
+
+"Forget Harman," Burris snapped. "What about this spy ring? How was
+Logan getting his information out?"
+
+"I've already taken care of that," Malone said. "I had Desert Edge
+Sanitarium surrounded as soon as I knew what the score was." He looked
+at one of the agents holding Logan.
+
+"They ought to be in the Las Vegas jail within half an hour," the agent
+said in confirmation.
+
+"Dr. Dowson was in on it, wasn't he, Your Majesty?" Malone said.
+
+"Certainly," the Queen said. Her eyes were suddenly very cold. "I hope
+he tries to escape. I hope he tries it."
+
+Malone knew just how she felt.
+
+One of the psychiatrists spoke up suddenly. "I don't understand it," he
+said. "Logan is completely catatonic. Even if he could read minds, how
+could he tell Dowson what he'd read? It doesn't make sense."
+
+"In the first place," the Queen said patiently, "Willie isn't catatonic.
+He's just _busy_, that's all. He's only a boy, and ... well, he doesn't
+much like being who he is. So he visits other people's minds, and that
+way he becomes _them_ for a while. You see?"
+
+"Vaguely," Malone said. "But how did Dowson get his information? I had
+everything worked out but that."
+
+"I know you did," the Queen said, "and I'm proud of you. I intend to
+award you with the Order of the Bath for this day's work."
+
+Unaccountably, Malone's chest swelled with pride.
+
+"As for Dr. Dowson," the Queen said, "that traitor ... _hurt_ Willie. If
+he's hurt enough, he'll come back." Her eyes weren't hard any more. "He
+didn't want to be a spy, really," she said, "but he's just a boy, and it
+must have sounded rather exciting. He knew that if he told Dowson
+everything he'd found out, they'd let him go--go away again."
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+"Well," Malone said, "that about wraps it up. Any questions?"
+
+He looked around at the men, but before any of them could speak up Her
+Majesty rose.
+
+"I'm sure there are questions," she said, "but I'm really very tired. My
+lords, you are excused." She extended a hand. "Come, Lady Barbara," she
+said. "I think I really may need that nap, now."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Malone put the cuff links in his shirt with great care. They were great
+stones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessary
+Elizabethan flair.
+
+Not that he was wearing the costume of the Queen's Court now. Instead,
+he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white-on-white
+shirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from his
+closet rack.
+
+Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing. "Stepping
+out?" he said.
+
+"I am," Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neck
+and drew it under the collar.
+
+"Anybody I know?"
+
+"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you wish to know," Malone said.
+
+"Come down," Boyd said. "Relax. Anyhow, I've got a question for you.
+There was one little thing Her Everlovin' Majesty didn't explain."
+
+"Yes?" said Malone.
+
+"Well, about those hoods who tried to gun us down," Boyd said. "Who
+hired 'em? And why?"
+
+"Dowson," Malone said. "He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Logan
+from the hotel room. But we foiled his plan--by killing his hoods. By
+the time he could work up something else, we were on our way to Yucca
+Flats."
+
+"Great," Boyd said. "And how did you find out this startling piece of
+information? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, have
+there?"
+
+"No," Malone said.
+
+"O.K.," Boyd said. "I give up, Mastermind."
+
+Malone wished Boyd would stop using that nickname. The fact was--as he,
+and apparently nobody else, was willing to recognize--that he wasn't
+anything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he was
+something special.
+
+He wasn't, he knew.
+
+He was just lucky.
+
+"Her Majesty informed me," Malone said.
+
+"Her--" Boyd stood with his mouth dropped open, like a fish waiting for
+some bait. "You mean she knew?"
+
+"Well," Malone said, "she did know the guys in the Buick weren't the
+best in the business--and she knew all about the specially-built FBI
+Lincoln. She got that from our minds." He knotted his tie with an air of
+great aplomb, and went, slowly to the door. "And she knew we were a good
+team. She got that from our minds, too."
+
+"But," Boyd said. After a second he said: "But," again, and followed it
+with: "Why didn't she tell us?"
+
+Malone opened the door.
+
+"Her Majesty wished to see the Queen's Own FBI in action," said Sir
+Kenneth Malone.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of That Sweet Little Old Lady, by 
+Gordon Randall Garrett     (AKA Mark Phillips)
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT SWEET LITTLE OLD LADY ***
+
+***** This file should be named 23657.txt or 23657.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/6/5/23657/
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.