<h2>VIII</h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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—<i>everything</i>
else—stems logically out of her
delusional premise. Beautiful."</p>
<p>She might have been crazy, Malone
realized. But she was a long way from
stupid.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of
Project Isle, was losing poundage by
the hour with worry. And, Malone
reflected, he could ill afford it.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Apparently Boyd had come to believe
that, too. At any rate, though he
was still truculent, there were no
more outbursts of rebellion.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>But, on the fourth day:</p>
<p>"What do we do now?" Burris
asked.</p>
<p>"Shoot ourselves," Boyd said
promptly.</p>
<p>"Now, look here—" Malone began,
but he was overruled.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Boyd put his hand over his chin
protectively, and said nothing at
all.</p>
<p>"Wait a minute," Malone said.
"Aren't there any <i>sane</i> telepaths in
the world?"</p>
<p>"We can't find any," Burris said.
"We—"</p>
<p>There was a knock at the office
door.</p>
<p>"Who's there?" Burris called.</p>
<p>"Dr. Gamble," said the man's
surprisingly baritone voice.</p>
<p>Burris called: "Come in, doctor,"
and the door opened. Dr. Gamble's
lean face looked almost haggard.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Miss Thompson?" Gamble said,
one hand at his bearded chin.</p>
<p>"The Queen," Burris said.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"We'll find him," Burris said with
a show of great confidence.</p>
<p>"But—"</p>
<p>"Give her time," Burris said. "Give
her time. Remember her mental condition."</p>
<p>Boyd looked up. "Rome," he said
in an absent fashion, "wasn't built in
a daze."</p>
<p>Burris glared at him, but said nothing.
Malone filled the conversational
hole with what he thought would be
nice, and hopeful, and untrue.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>Dr. Gamble said: "But—"</p>
<p>"My, my," Malone said. "Almost
lunchtime. I have to go over and have
lunch with Her Majesty. Maybe she's
dug up something more."</p>
<p>"I hope so," Dr. Gamble said, apparently
successfully deflected. "I do
hope so."</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/011-1.png" style="display: block;" width-obs="139" height-obs="120" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/011-2.png" style="display: block;" width-obs="363" height-obs="380" alt="" title="" /> "One more crack out of you...."</div>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Malone went over the whole case
in his mind—for about the thousandth
time, he told himself bitterly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Malone thought of the psychiatrists.
There wasn't any evidence, that
was the trouble. There wasn't any
evidence either way.</p>
<p>Then he wondered if Boyd had
been thinking of him, Malone, as the
possible spy. Certainly it worked in
reverse. Boyd—</p>
<p>No. That was silly.</p>
<p>Malone told himself that he might
as well consider Andrew J. Burris.</p>
<p>Ridiculous. Absolutely ridic—</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Behind their own goal line.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Why couldn't you? Malone
thought suddenly. And then something
Burris himself had said came
back to him, something that—</p>
<p><i>I'll be damned</i>, he thought.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Malone blinked.</p>
<p>In that second, he knew exactly
who the spy was.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 <i>doing</i> things again, important
things.</p>
<p>Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were
still talking as Malone entered.</p>
<p>"That," Burris said, "was one hell
of a quick lunch. What's Her Majesty
doing now—running a diner?"</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>Burris looked startled. "Has
she—" he began, and stopped, leaving
his mouth open and the rest of
the sentence unfinished.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>The silence didn't last three seconds.</p>
<p>"Let's go," Burris snapped. He and
the others headed for the door.</p>
<p>"Gentlemen!" Malone sounded
properly shocked and offended.
"Your dress!"</p>
<p>"Oh, <i>no</i>," Boyd said. "Not now."</p>
<p>Burris simply said: "You're quite
right. Get dressed, Boyd ... I mean,
of course, Sir Thomas."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Everyone, Malone realized with
satisfaction, was assembled. Even
Burris and the others were ready to
go. Beaming, he led them out.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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 <i>his</i> costume was a stunning, perfect
fit.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>One of the psychiatrists spoke up.
"I trust you won't disturb the patient,
Mr. Malone," he said.</p>
<p>"Sir Kenneth," Malone snapped.</p>
<p>The psychiatrist looked both
abashed and worried. "I'm sorry," he
said doubtfully.</p>
<p>Malone nodded. "That's all right,"
he said. "I'll try not to disturb Her
Majesty unduly."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>Malone said: "That's fair enough,
gentlemen. Let's go."</p>
<p>He opened the door.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><i>Read me! You know by this time
that I have the truth—but read
deeper!</i></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"You may explain, Sir Kenneth,"
Her Majesty said.</p>
<p>"Your Majesty understands the
conditions?" Malone asked.</p>
<p>"Perfectly," said the Queen.
"Proceed."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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: <i>what's coming
next?</i></p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>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—"</p>
<p>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—</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>Lady Barbara said: "Sir ... I mean
Ken ... are you going to—"</p>
<p>"What's this all about?" Burris
snapped.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>Another hurried huddle. The psych
boys were beginning to remind Malone
of a semi-pro football team in
rather unusual uniforms.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"And," said Lady Barbara, "me."
She smiled sweetly at them all.</p>
<p>"Ah," the psychiatrist said. "Certainly.
Of course." He retired into his
group with some confusion.</p>
<p>Malone was looking straight at the
throne. Her Majesty's countenance
was serene and unruffled.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Well, Your Majesty?" he said.
"You have seen the thoughts of every
man here. How do they appear to
you?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Malone took a step forward, but
Burris interrupted him. "How about
the spy?" he said.</p>
<p>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—"</p>
<p>"No," Barbara said. "No. She
couldn't ... she's not—"</p>
<p>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>I'm</i> the
spy."</p>
<p>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!"</p>
<p>There was a second of silence.</p>
<p>"Of course she's not," Malone said
quietly. "She's no spy."</p>
<p>"Would I spy on my own subjects?"
she said. "Use your reason!"</p>
<p>"You mean...." Burris began, and
Boyd finished for him:</p>
<p>"... She isn't?"</p>
<p>"No," Malone snapped. "She isn't.
Remember, you said it would take a
telepath to catch a telepath?"</p>
<p>"Well—" Burris began.</p>
<p>"Well, Her Majesty remembered
it," Malone said. "And acted on it."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Listen, dear," the Queen said.
"Your Kenneth has seen the truth of
the matter. Listen to him."</p>
<p>"Her Majesty not only caught the
spy," Malone said, "but she turned
the spy right over to us."</p>
<p>He turned at once and went back
down the long red carpet to the door.
<i>I really ought to get a sword</i>, he
thought, and didn't see Her Majesty
smile. He opened the door with a
great flourish and said quietly:
"Bring him in, boys."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Impossible," one of the psychiatrists
said.</p>
<p>Malone spun on his heel and led
the way back to the throne. Logan
and his guards followed closely.</p>
<p>"Your Majesty," Malone said,
"may I present the prisoner?"</p>
<p>"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth,"
the Queen said. "Poor Willie is your
spy. You won't be too hard on him,
will you?"</p>
<p>"I don't think so. Your Majesty,"
Malone said. "After all—"</p>
<p>"Now wait a minute," Burris exploded.
"How did <i>you</i> know any of
this?"</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"Sure I remember," Burris said.
"So?"</p>
<p>"Well," Malone said, "Her Majesty
said she knew just where the spy
was. I asked her where—"</p>
<p>"Why didn't you tell me?" Burris
screamed. "You knew all this time
and you didn't tell me?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Burris opened his mouth. Nothing
came out. He closed it and tried
again. At last he managed one word.</p>
<p>"Me?" he said.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Barbara whispered: "Is that right,
Your Majesty?"</p>
<p>"Certainly, dear," the Queen said
calmly. "Would I lie to Sir Kenneth?"</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>Burris, incapable of speech, merely
nodded.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"Don't blame yourself, Sir Kenneth,"
the Queen put in. "I did do
my best to mislead you, you know."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Barbara stared. Malone got a lot of
satisfaction out of that stare. But
there was still more ground to cover.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>The psychiatrist who'd muttered:
"Impossible," was still muttering it.
Malone ignored him.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>Malone turned to Her Majesty on
the throne. "I think that the Queen
had better explain that—if she will."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>"It's all right," she said. "We do—respect
you."</p>
<p>The Queen smiled up at her.</p>
<p>Malone waited. After a second Her
Majesty continued.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Malone nodded. After a second he
said: "You see that we couldn't possibly
send you back now, don't you?"</p>
<p>"I—"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>The Queen smiled tremulously. "I
know too much, do I?" she said.
Then her grin faded. "Poor Dr. Harman,"
she said.</p>
<p>"Poor Dr. Harman?"</p>
<p>"You'll hear about him in a day or
so," she said. "I ... peeked inside
his mind. He's very ill."</p>
<p>"Ill?" Lady Barbara asked.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Oh, my," Lady Barbara said—and
began to laugh. It was the nicest
sound Malone had ever heard.</p>
<p>"Forget Harman," Burris snapped.
"What about this spy ring? How was
Logan getting his information out?"</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"They ought to be in the Las Vegas
jail within half an hour," the agent
said in confirmation.</p>
<p>"Dr. Dowson was in on it, wasn't
he, Your Majesty?" Malone said.</p>
<p>"Certainly," the Queen said. Her
eyes were suddenly very cold. "I hope
he tries to escape. I hope he tries it."</p>
<p>Malone knew just how she felt.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"In the first place," the Queen
said patiently, "Willie isn't catatonic.
He's just <i>busy</i>, 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 <i>them</i> for a while. You see?"</p>
<p>"Vaguely," Malone said. "But how
did Dowson get his information? I
had everything worked out but that."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Unaccountably, Malone's chest
swelled with pride.</p>
<p>"As for Dr. Dowson," the Queen
said, "that traitor ... <i>hurt</i> 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."</p>
<p>There was a long silence.</p>
<p>"Well," Malone said, "that about
wraps it up. Any questions?"</p>
<p>He looked around at the men, but
before any of them could speak up
Her Majesty rose.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Boyd yawned at him from the bed
in the room they were sharing. "Stepping
out?" he said.</p>
<p>"I am," Malone said with restraint.
He whipped the tie round his
neck and drew it under the
collar.</p>
<p>"Anybody I know?"</p>
<p>"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you
wish to know," Malone said.</p>
<p>"Come down," Boyd said. "Relax.
Anyhow, I've got a question for you.
There was one little thing Her Everlovin'
Majesty didn't explain."</p>
<p>"Yes?" said Malone.</p>
<p>"Well, about those hoods who tried
to gun us down," Boyd said. "Who
hired 'em? And why?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"No," Malone said.</p>
<p>"O.K.," Boyd said. "I give up,
Mastermind."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He wasn't, he knew.</p>
<p>He was just lucky.</p>
<p>"Her Majesty informed me," Malone
said.</p>
<p>"Her—" Boyd stood with his
mouth dropped open, like a fish waiting
for some bait. "You mean she
knew?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"But," Boyd said. After a second
he said: "But," again, and followed
it with: "Why didn't she tell us?"</p>
<p>Malone opened the door.</p>
<p>"Her Majesty wished to see the
Queen's Own FBI in action," said Sir
Kenneth Malone.</p>
<p class="theend">THE END</p>
<div class="figtran">
<SPAN href="images/013-2.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/013-1.jpg" width-obs="141" height-obs="200" alt="" title="" /></SPAN>
<b><big>Transcriber's Note:</big></b><br/><br/>
This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i>
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.</div>
<hr class="hrchp" />
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