<h2>III</h2>
<p>The telephone rang.</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Gur?" he said, sleepily and angrily,
thankful that he'd never had
a visiphone installed in his apartment.</p>
<p>A feminine voice said: "Mr. Kenneth
J. Malone?"</p>
<p>"Who's this?" Malone said peevishly,
beginning to discover himself
capable of semirational English
speech.</p>
<p>"Long distance from San Francisco,"
the voice said.</p>
<p>"It certainly is," Malone said.
"Who's calling?"</p>
<p>"San Francisco is calling," the
voice said primly.</p>
<p>Malone repressed a desire to tell
the voice off, and said instead:
"<i>Who</i> in San Francisco?"</p>
<p>There was a momentary hiatus,
and then the voice said: "Mr. Thomas
Boyd is calling, sir. He says this
is a scramble call."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Mr. Boyd says he is the Agent-in-Charge
of the San Francisco office
of the FBI," the voice offered.</p>
<p>"And quite right, too," Malone
told her. "All right. Put him on."</p>
<p>"One moment." There was a
pause, a click, another pause and
then another click. At last the operator
said: "Your party is ready, sir."</p>
<p>Then there was still another pause.
Malone stared at the audio receiver.
He began to whistle "When Irish
Eyes Are Smiling."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>"Hello? Malone?"</p>
<p>"I'm here, Tom," Malone said
guiltily. "This is me. What's the
trouble?"</p>
<p>"Trouble?" Boyd said. "There
isn't any trouble. Well, not really.
Or maybe it is. I don't know."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>It wasn't safe to say too much,
even over a scrambled circuit. But
Malone got the message without difficulty.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" he said, sitting up on
the edge of the couch. "You sure?"</p>
<p>"Well," Boyd said, "no. Not absolutely
sure. Not absolutely. But it
is worth your taking a personal look,
I think."</p>
<p>"Ah," Malone said cautiously.
"An imbecile?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Good to see you, Ken," Boyd
said briskly, as he shook Malone's
hand.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Well, then," Malone said, relaxing
against the upholstery, "where
is this guy, and who is he? And how
did you find him?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>But whoever the somebody was,
his hair hadn't been black, as
Boyd's was—</p>
<p>He decided it didn't make any difference.
Anyhow, Boyd was speaking.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>There was a little silence.</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"All right," Malone said wearily.
"Do it your own way. How far do
we have to go?"</p>
<p>"Just about an hour's drive,"
Boyd said. "That's all."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Then again, coffee was only coffee.
True, he had never acquired his
father's taste for gin, but there was
always bourbon.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Boyd glanced at it momentarily as
Malone screwed the top back on.</p>
<p>"No," Malone said in answer to
the unspoken question. "You're
driving." Then he settled back again
and tipped his hat forward.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Whadyamean, wakeup," Malone
said. "I wasn't asleep." He thumbed
his hat back and sat up rapidly.
"Where's 'here'?"</p>
<p>"Bayview Neuropsychiatric Hospital,"
Boyd said. "This is where Dr.
Harman works, you know."</p>
<p>"No," Malone said. "As a matter
of fact, I don't know. You didn't tell
me—remember? And who is Dr.
Harman, anyhow?"</p>
<p>The car was moving up a long,
curving driveway toward a large,
lawn-surrounded building. Boyd
spoke without looking away from the
road.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"I know," Malone said. "I wrote
them."</p>
<p>"Oh," Boyd said. "Sure. Well,
anyhow, I talked to this dame.
Lady."</p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p>"And I talked to her," Boyd said.
"I'm not entirely sure of anything
myself. But ... well, hell. You take
a look at her."</p>
<p>He pulled the car up to a parking
space, slid nonchalantly into a slot
marked <i>Reserved—Executive Director
Sutton</i>, and slid out from under
the wheel while Malone got out the
other side.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>They marched up the broad steps,
through the doorway and into the
glass-fronted office of the receptionist.</p>
<p>Boyd showed her his little golden
badge, and got an appropriate gasp.
"FBI," he said. "Dr. Harman's expecting
us."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Come in, gentlemen," Dr. Harman
boomed. His voice was that
rarity, a really loud high tenor.</p>
<p>"Dr. Harman," Boyd said, "this
is my superior, Mr. Malone. We'd
like to have a talk with Miss Thompson."</p>
<p>"I anticipated that, sir," Dr. Harman
said. "Miss Thompson is in the
next room. Have you explained to
Mr. Malone that—"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"I see," Dr. Harman said. "Very
well, gentlemen. Through this door."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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....</p>
<p>And yet, it wasn't just the sheer
physical beauty of the girl. She had
something else, something more and
something different. (<i>Something
borrowed</i>, Malone thought in a semi-delirious
haze, <i>and something blue</i>.)
Personality? Character? Soul?</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Good morning, Miss Thompson,"
he said in what he hoped was
a winning voice.</p>
<p>The smile disappeared. It was like
the sun going out.</p>
<p>The vision appeared to be troubled.
Malone was about to volunteer
his help—if necessary, for the next
seventy years—when she spoke.</p>
<p>"I'm not Miss Thompson," she
said.</p>
<p>"This is one of our nurses," Dr.
Harman put in. "Miss Wilson, Mr.
Malone. And Mr. Boyd. Miss
Thompson, gentlemen, is over
there."</p>
<p>Malone turned.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"<i>You're</i> Miss Thompson?" he
said.</p>
<p>She smiled sweetly. "Oh, my, no,"
she said.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"All right," he said. "I get it.
<i>You're</i> Miss Thompson."</p>
<p>"Now, wait a minute, Malone,"
Boyd began.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"It isn't <i>you</i>, Malone," Boyd said.</p>
<p>"What isn't me?"</p>
<p>"That's crazy," Boyd said.</p>
<p>"O.K.," Malone said. "I'm not
crazy. Then will somebody please
tell me—"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"A pseudonym?" Malone said.</p>
<p>"You see, Mr. Malone," Miss
Wilson began.</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>The trace of a smile appeared
on her face. "I think I do," she said.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"Well," she said, "otherwise people
would find out about my little
secret."</p>
<p>"Your little secret," Malone said.</p>
<p>"That's right," the little old lady
said. "I'm immortal, you see."</p>
<p>Malone said: "Oh." Then he kept
quiet for a long time. It didn't seem
to him that anyone in the room was
breathing.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"That's right," the little old lady
agreed sweetly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"My real name?" she said. "Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Tudor, of course. I
used to be Queen."</p>
<p>"Of England," Malone said faintly.</p>
<p>"Malone, look—" Boyd began.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"You're immortal, and you're not
really Miss Thompson, but Queen
Elizabeth I?" he said slowly.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p><i>Burris</i>, he thought, <i>is going to
love this</i>.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Well, Malone told himself, that
was that. He'd found himself a telepath.</p>
<p>And she wasn't an imbecile.</p>
<p>Oh, no. That would have been
simple.</p>
<p>Instead, she was battier than a
cathedral spire.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>The long silence was broken by
the voice of Miss Wilson.</p>
<p>"Mr. Malone," she said, "you've
been thinking." She stopped. "I
mean, you've been so quiet."</p>
<p>"I like being quiet," Malone said
patiently. "Besides—" He stopped
and turned to the little old lady. <i>Can
you really read my mind?</i> he thought
deliberately. After a second he added:
<i>... your majesty?</i></p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>"Sure," Malone said easily.</p>
<p>Boyd broke in. "Listen, Malone,"
he said, "do you mind telling me
what is going on?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Until what goes away?" Miss
Wilson said.</p>
<p>Malone stared at her almost without
seeing her, if not quite. "Everything,"
he said. He closed his eyes.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Thanks," Malone said faintly.</p>
<p>Dr. Harman was blinking in a
kind of befuddled astonishment.
"You mean she really <i>is</i> 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—"</p>
<p>"Oh, <i>bosh</i>, 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 <i>you're</i> smart enough."</p>
<p>"Now, now, Miss Thompson," he
said in what was obviously his best
Grade A Choice Government Inspected
couchside manner. "Don't...."</p>
<p>"... Upset yourself," she finished
for him. "Now, really, doctor. I
know what you're going to tell
them."</p>
<p>"But Miss Thompson, I—"</p>
<p>"You didn't honestly think I <i>was</i>
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."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>"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.</p>
<p>He wondered if he could possibly
work such a deal.</p>
<p>Then he wondered if it would be
worth while, being nuts. But of
course it would. He was nuts anyhow,
wasn't he?</p>
<p>Sure, he told himself. They were
all nuts.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Please, Miss Thompson—" Dr.
Harman began.</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/005.png" width-obs="161" height-obs="500" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>"Miss Thompson," Dr. Harman
said. His bedside manner had cracked
through and his voice was harsh
and strained. "Please."</p>
<p>"Oh, all right," she said, a little
petulantly. "If you want to keep all
that private."</p>
<p>Malone broke in suddenly, fascinated.
"Why didn't you prove you
were telepathic before now?" he
said.</p>
<p>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 <i>wanted</i> 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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Dr. Harman opened his mouth,
apparently changed his mind, and
shut it again. The little old lady
turned to him.</p>
<p>"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 <i>wanted</i> to believe
me. He <i>wants</i> me. He <i>needs</i> me. I'm
a telepath, and that's enough for Mr.
Malone. Isn't it?"</p>
<p>"Gur," Malone said, taken by surprise.
After a second he added: "I
guess so."</p>
<p>"You see, doctor?" the little old
lady said.</p>
<p>"But you—" Dr. Harman began.</p>
<p>"I read minds," the little old lady
said. "That's right, doctor. That's
what makes me a telepath."</p>
<p>Malone's brain was whirling rapidly,
like a distant galaxy. "Telepath"
was a nice word, he thought.
How did you telepath from a road?</p>
<p>Simple.</p>
<p>A road is paved.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>Malone looked at the little old
lady. One of her eyes closed and
opened. It was an unmistakable
wink.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Whatever what is?" Malone asked,
sincerely interested. He had
dropped gratefully into a chair near
Boyd's, across the desk from Dr.
Harman.</p>
<p>"Whatever my <i>mind</i> is," Dr. Harman
said. "Reading it. Oh, my."</p>
<p>"Dr. Harman," Malone began,
but the psychiatrist gave him a
bright blank stare.</p>
<p>"Don't you understand?" he said.
"She's a telepath."</p>
<p>"We—"</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>There was no image on the
screen.</p>
<p>But the voice was image enough.
"This is Andrew J. Burris," it said.
"Is Kenneth J. Malone there?"</p>
<p>"Mr. Malone?" the psychiatrist
said. "I mean, Mr. Burris? Mr. Malone
is here. Yes. Oh, my. Do you
want to talk to him?"</p>
<p>"No, you idiot," the voice said.
"I just want to know if he's all tucked
in."</p>
<p>"Tucked in?" Dr. Harman gave
the phone a sudden smile. "A joke,"
he said. "It <i>is</i> a joke, isn't it? The
way things have been happening,
you never know whether—"</p>
<p>"A joke," Burris' voice said.
"That's right. Yes. Am I talking to
one of the patients?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The FBI agent said: "Hello, chief.
Things are a little confused."</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>Malone said cautiously: "We've
found a telepath."</p>
<p>Burris' eyes widened slightly. "Another
one?"</p>
<p>"What are you talking about,
another one?" Malone said. "We
have one. Does anybody else have
any more?"</p>
<p>"Well," Burris said, "we just got
a report on another one—maybe.
Besides yours, I mean."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Queen Elizabeth?" Burris said.
"Of England?"</p>
<p>"That's right," Malone said. He
held his breath.</p>
<p>"Damn it," Burris exploded,
"they've already got one."</p>
<p>Malone sighed. "This is another
one," he said. "Or, rather, the original
one. She also claims she's immortal."</p>
<p>"Lives forever?" Burris said.
"You mean like that?"</p>
<p>"Immortal," Malone said. "Right."</p>
<p>Burris nodded. Then he looked
worried. "Tell me, Malone," he
said. "She <i>isn't</i>, is she?"</p>
<p>"Isn't immortal, you mean?" Malone
said. Burris nodded. Malone
said confidently: "Of course not."</p>
<p>There was a little pause. Malone
thought things over.</p>
<p>Hell, maybe she was immortal.
Stranger things had happened, hadn't
they?</p>
<p>He looked over at Dr. Harman.
"How about that?" he said. "Could
she be immortal?"</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"I was afraid of that," Burris said.</p>
<p>"Afraid?" Malone said.</p>
<p>Burris nodded. "We've got another
one—if he checks out," he said.
"Right here in Washington—St.
Elizabeths."</p>
<p>"Another nut?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Oh, sure," Malone said.</p>
<p>"We can't afford to overlook a
thing," Burris said.</p>
<p>Malone sighed. "I know," he
said. "But all the same—"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>And there they would be in Yucca
Flats. Kenneth J. Malone, and a convention
of looney-bin inhabitants.</p>
<p>Fun!</p>
<p>Malone began to wonder why he
had gone into FBI work in the first
place.</p>
<p>"Listen, chief," he said. "I—"</p>
<p>"Sure, I understand," Burris said
quickly. "She's batty. But what else
can we do? Malone, don't do anything
you'll regret."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I mean, don't resign."</p>
<p>"Chief, how did you know—you're
not telepathic too, are you?"</p>
<p>"Of course not," Burris said. "But
that's what I would do in your place.
And don't do it."</p>
<p>"Look, chief," Malone said.
"These nuts—"</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>Malone gave up. "Yes, sir," he
said. "Anything else?"</p>
<p>"Not right now," Burris said. "If
there is, I'll let you know."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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?"</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Hm-m-m," Boyd said. "Say
Judge Dunning," he said. "Good
man. Fast worker."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"Her full name," Dr. Harman
said, "is Rose Walker Thompson.
She is not Queen Elizabeth I, II, or
XXVIII, and she is not immortal."</p>
<p>"But she is," Malone pointed out,
"a telepath. And that's why I want
her."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"O.K., never mind it," Malone
said agreeably. "Tom, get us a court
order for Rose Walker Thompson.
Effective yesterday—day before, if
possible."</p>
<p>Boyd nodded, but before he could
get to the phone Dr. Harman spoke
again.</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>"This is important," Boyd put in.</p>
<p>"I don't dispute that," Dr. Harman
said. "Nevertheless, I—"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said.</p>
<p>"Not at all," Malone said. "It's a
pleasure to have you. Come again
soon." He smiled at her.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"New?" he said. The worry lines
on his face were increasing, but he
spoke softly.</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>As she saw the expressions on
three faces, she stopped.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" she said.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilson," Malone said, "we
... may I call you by your first
name?"</p>
<p>"Of course, Mr. Malone," she
said.</p>
<p>There was a little silence.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilson," Malone said,
"what <i>is</i> your first name?"</p>
<p>She smiled now, very gently. Malone
wanted to walk through mountains,
or climb fire. He felt confused,
but wonderful. "Barbara," she said.</p>
<p>"Lovely," he said. "Well, Barbara
... and please call me Ken. It's
short for Kenneth."</p>
<p>The smile on her face broadened.
"I thought it might be," she said.</p>
<p>"Well," Malone said softly, "it is.
Kenneth. That's my name. And
you're Barbara."</p>
<p>Boyd cleared his throat.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"But you can't take Miss Thompson
away," Miss Wilson said.</p>
<p>"We have to, Barbara," Malone
said gently. "Try to understand. It's
for the national security."</p>
<p>"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 <i>my</i>
mind."</p>
<p>"She's a sick woman," Barbara
said.</p>
<p>"But you have to understand—"</p>
<p>"Vital necessity," Boyd put in.
"Absolutely vital."</p>
<p>"Nevertheless—" Barbara said.</p>
<p>"She can read minds," Dr. Harman
whispered in an awed tone.
"She knows. Everything. She
<i>knows</i>."</p>
<p>"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—"</p>
<p>"Kenneth," Malone put in, as the
door opened again. "I mean Ken."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Outside?" Barbara said.</p>
<p>"Of course," the little old lady
said. "In other people's minds. Even
yours. I remember that nice young
man ... what was his name?"</p>
<p>"Never mind his name," Barbara
said, flushing furiously.</p>
<p>Malone felt instantly jealous of
every nice young man he had ever
even heard of. <i>He</i> wasn't a nice
young man; he was an FBI agent,
and he liked to drink and smoke
cigars and carouse.</p>
<p>All nice young men, he decided,
should be turned into ugly old men
as soon as possible. That'd fix
them!</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"At any rate," Barbara said, "I'm
afraid that we just can't—"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" she said.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"Yucca Flats," Malone said.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>Barbara Wilson gave him a look
that had carloads of U<sub>235</sub> stacked
away in it, but Malone barely minded.
She'd get over it, he told himself.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"We'll take good care of her, Barbara,"
Malone said.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Go right ahead," Dr. Harman
said. "Go right ahead."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Now, now, Miss Thompson,"
Barbara said.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"Won't it be wonderful?" said
the little old lady.</p>
<hr class="hrchp" />
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />