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 expressionwhich 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 manwith bright blue eyes and large hands. He paced to the window and lookedout at Washington, and then he came back to the desk. A persistentoffice rumor held that he had become head of the FBI purely because hehappened 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 thehopelessness of that Old Testament prophet's lamentations. 

"We're helpless, " he said, looking at the young man with the crisp brownhair who was sitting across the desk. "That's what it is, we'rehelpless. "

Kenneth Malone tried to look dependable. "Just tell me what to do, " hesaid. 

"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 Ipicked you personally. Believe me, there's never been anything like itbefore. "

"I'll do my best, " Malone said at random. He was twenty-eight, and hehad been an FBI agent for three years. In that time, he had, among otherthings, managed to break up a gang of smugglers, track down acounterfeiting ring, and capture three kidnapers. For reasons which hecould neither understand nor explain, no one seemed willing to attributehis 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 thepoint. Any point. He smiled gently across the desk and tried to lookcompetent and dependable and reassuring. Burris' expression didn'tchange. 

"You'll get the conference tapes later, " Burris said. "You can studythem 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 youread 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 fathersaid big boys don't cry. "

"And your father was right, " Burris said. "Why, when I was a . .. Nevermind. Forget about Beth and your father. Think about 'Lucky Starr' for aminute. Remember him?"

"Sure, " Malone said. "I liked those books. You know, it's funny, but thebooks you read when you're a kid, they kind of stay with you. Know whatI 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 onthe 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. Onceagain he stood up and went to the window. This time, he spoke withoutturning. "Remember how everybody used to laugh about spaceships, andorbital 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 tookit 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 notlaughing 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'snothing to laugh about, sir?"

Burris whirled. "On the head!" he said happily. "You've hit the nail onthe head, Kenneth. I knew I could depend on you. " His voice grew seriousagain, and thoughtful. "We're not laughing any more because there'snothing to laugh about. We have orbital satellites, and we've landed onthe Moon with an atomic rocket. The planets are the next step, and afterthat 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'smind?"

Malone shook his head. "No, sir, " he said. 

Burris nodded. "That's the problem, " he said. "That's the case I'msending 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 greatmany of them, and it was long after nine o'clock when Kenneth Malonedecided to take a break and get some fresh air. Washington was a goodcity for walking, even at night, and Malone liked to walk. Sometimes hepretended, even to himself, that he got his best ideas while walking, but he knew perfectly well that wasn't true. His best ideas just seemedto come to him, out of nowhere, precisely as the situation demandedthem. 

He was just lucky, that was all. He had a talent for being lucky. Butnobody would ever believe that. A record like his was spectacular, evenin the annals of the FBI, and Burris himself believed that the recordshowed 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 excitingto be an FBI agent, even after three years. A man got a chance to travelaround a lot and see things, and it was interesting. The pay was prettygood, too. 

The only trouble was that, if he didn't quit, he was going to have tofind a telepath. 

The notion of telepathic spies just didn't sound right to Malone. Itbothered him in a remote sort of way. Not that the idea of telepathyitself was alien to him--after all, he was even more aware than theaverage citizen that research had been going on in that field forsomething over a quarter of a century, and that the research was evenspeeding up. 

But the cold fact that a telepathy-detecting device had been inventedsomehow shocked his sense of propriety, and his notions of privacy. Itwasn'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, headingtoward 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 whilewalking_, Malone said without convincing himself. He thought back to thevideo tapes. 

The report on the original use of the machine itself had been on one ofthe first tapes, and Malone could still see and hear it. That was onething he did have, he reflected; his memory was pretty good. 

Burris had been the first speaker on the tapes, and he'd given theserial and reference number in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. His facehad been perfectly blank, and he looked just like the head of the FBIpeople were accustomed to seeing on their TV and newsreel screens. Malone wondered what had happened to him between the time the tapes hadbeen made and the time he'd sent for Malone. 

Maybe the whole notion of telepathy was beginning to get him, Malonethought. 

Burris recited the standard tape opening in a rapid mumble: "Any personor agent unauthorized for this tape please refrain from viewing further, under penalties as prescribed by law. " Then he looked off, out past thescreen to the left, and said: "Dr. Thomas O'Connor, of WestinghouseLaboratories. Will you come here, Dr. O'Connor?"

Dr. O'Connor came into the lighted square of screen slowly, looking allaround him. "This is very fascinating, " he said, blinking in thelamplight. "I hadn't realized that you people took so manyprecautions--"

He was, Malone thought, somewhere between fifty and sixty, tall and thinwith skin so transparent that he nearly looked like a living X ray. Hehad pale blue eyes and pale white hair and, Malone thought, if thereever were a contest for the best-looking ghost, Dr. Thomas O'Connorwould win it hands--or phalanges--down. 

"This is all necessary for the national security, " Burris said, a littlesternly. 

"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-downon this for our records?"

"Of course, " Dr. O'Connor said. He smiled into the video cameras andcleared his throat. "I take it you don't want an explanation of howthis machine works. I mean: you don't want a technical exposition, doyou?"

"No, " Burris said, and added: "Not by any means. Just tell us what itdoes. "

 * * * * *

Dr. O'Connor suddenly reminded Malone of a professor he'd had in collegefor one of the law courses. He had, Malone thought, the same smilinggravity of demeanor, the same condescending attitude of absoluteauthority. It was clear that Dr. O'Connor lived in a world of his own, aworld that was not even touched by the common run of men. 

"Well, " he began, "to put it very simply, the device indicates whetheror not a man's mental . .. Ah . .. Processes are being influenced byoutside . .. By outside influences. " He gave the cameras another littlesmile. "If you will allow me, I will demonstrate on the machine itself. "

He took two steps that carried him out of camera range, and returnedwheeling a large heavy-looking box. Dangling from the metal coveringwere a number of wires and attachments. A long cord led from the box tothe floor, and snaked out of sight to the left. 

"Now, " Dr. O'Connor said. He selected a single lead, apparently, Malonethought, at random. "This electrode--"

"Just a moment, doctor, " Burris said. He was eying the machine with acombination of suspicion and awe. "A while back you mentioned somethingabout '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 astelepathy 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'tquarrel about terms. "

"Certainly not, " Dr. O'Connor said. The smile he turned on Burris was ascold 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 sortof telepath or mind reader with this device. To be frank, I very muchwish 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 amask of confusion. Momentarily, Malone felt sorry for his chief. Hecould remember how he'd felt, himself, when that law professor had comeup with a particularly baffling question in class. 

"This machine, " Dr. O'Connor said with authority, "detects the slightvariations 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 machineis in Nevada; the structure is both too heavy and too delicate fortransport. And there are other qualifications--"

"I meant theoretically, " Burris said. 

"Theoretically, " Dr. O'Connor began, and smiled again, "if your mindwere being read, this machine would detect it, supposing that themachine were in operating condition and all of the other qualificationshad been met. You see, Mr. Burris, no matter how poor a telepath a manmay be, he has some slight ability--even if only very slight--to detectthe 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 thisstatement. 

"You would know it, " Dr. O'Connor said, "but you would never know youknew it. To elucidate: in a normal person--like you, for instance, oreven like myself--the state of having one's mind read merely results ina vague, almost subconscious feeling of irritation, something that couldeasily be attributed to minor worries, or fluctuations in one's hormonalbalance. The hormonal balance, Mr. Burris, is--"

"Thank you, " Burris said with a trace of irritation. "I know whathormones are. "

"Ah. Good, " Dr. O'Connor said equably. "In any case, to continue: thismachine interprets those specific feelings as indications that the mindis being . .. Ah . .. 'eavesdropped' upon. "

You could almost see the quotation marks around what Dr. O'Connorconsidered slang dropping into place, Malone thought. 

 * * * * *

"I see, " Burris said with a disappointed air. "But what do you mean, itwon'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 beable to tell that the machine was, in fact, indicating the presence oftelepathy? 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? Onethat 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 wewere 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 behindthem. That didn't matter; he simply repeated whatever you werethinking. Rather disconcerting. "

"I'm sure, " Burris said. "But he was really an imbecile? There wasn'tany chance of--"

"Of curing him?" Dr. O'Connor said. "None, I'm afraid. We did at onetime feel that there had been a mental breakdown early in the boy'slife, and, indeed, it's perfectly possible that he was normal for thefirst 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 tellinganything at all, for certain. It's easy to see what caused theconfusion, of course: telepathy in an imbecile is rather an oddity--andany normal adult would probably be rather hesitant about admitting thathe was capable of it. That's why we have not found another subject; wemust merely sit back and wait for lightning to strike. "

Burris sighed. "I see your problem, " he said. "But what happened to thisimbecile 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 toprovide, Mr. Burris. There was some malfunction, but--we like to saythat 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'tknow how to look for them. All right. But to get back to this machine ofyours: it couldn't detect the boy's ability?"

Dr. O'Connor shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. We've worked hard onthat problem at Westinghouse, Mr. Burris, but we haven't yet been ableto 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'smind is being read. " He stopped, and his face became suddenly morose. When he spoke again, he sounded guilty, as if he were making anadmission that pained him. "Of course, Mr. Burris, there's nothing wecan _do_ about a man's mind being read. Nothing whatever. " He essayed agrin that didn't look very healthy. "But at least, " he said, "you knowyou're being spied on. "

Burris grimaced. There was a little silence while Dr. O'Connor strokedthe 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 andfriendly as a Christmas party by comparison. It was a look that frozethe air of the room into a solid chunk, Malone thought, a chunk youcould have chipped pieces from, for souvenirs, later, when Dr. O'Connorhad gone and you could get into the room without any danger of beingquick-frozen by the man's unfriendly eye. 

"Mr. Burris, " Dr. O'Connor said in a voice that matched the temperatureof his gaze, "please. Remember our slogan. "

 * * * * *

Malone sighed. He fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, foundone, and extracted a single cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth andstarted fishing in various pockets for his lighter. 

He sighed again. He preferred cigars, a habit he'd acquired from thedays when he'd filched them from his father's cigar case, but his mentalpicture of the fearless and alert young FBI agent didn't include acigar. Somehow, remembering his father as neither fearless nor, exactly, alert--anyway, not the way the movies and the TV screens liked topicture the words--he had the impression that cigars looked out of placeon FBI agents. 

And it was, in any case, a small sacrifice to make. He found his lighterand shielded it from the brisk wind. He looked out over water at theJefferson Memorial, and was surprised that he'd managed to walk as faras he had. Then he stopped thinking about walking, and took a puff ofhis cigarette, and forced himself to think about the job in hand. 

Naturally, the Westinghouse gadget had been declared Ultra Top Secret assoon as it had been worked out. Virtually everything was, these days. And the whole group involved in the machine and its workings had beentransferred without delay to the United States Laboratories out in YuccaFlats, 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 seenthem all. 

So, the scientists ran experiments on the machine, and they made adiscovery of a kind they hadn't been looking for. 

Somebody, they discovered, was picking the brains of the scientiststhere. 

Not the brains of the people working with the telepathy machine. 

And not the brains of the people working on the several otherEarth-limited projects at Yucca Flats. 

They'd been reading the minds of some of the scientists working on thenew and highly classified non-rocket space drive. 

In other words, the Yucca Flats plant was infested with a telepathicspy. And how do you go about finding a telepath? Malone sighed. Spiesthat got information in any of the usual ways were tough enough tolocate. 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 athief. And if the Westinghouse machine won't locate a telepathic spy, Iknow what will. "

"What?" Malone had asked. 

"It's simple, " Burris had said. "Another telepath. There has to be onearound somewhere. Westinghouse _did_ have one, after all, and theRussians _still_ have one. Malone, that's your job: go out and find me atelepath. "

Burris had an answer for everything, all right, Malone thought. But hecouldn't see where the answer did him very much good. After all, if ittakes a telepath to catch a telepath, how do you catch the telepathyou're going to use to catch the first telepath?

[Illustration]

Malone ran that through his mind again, and then gave it up. It soundedas if it should have made sense, somehow, but it just didn't, and thatwas all there was to that. 

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and mashed it out with the toeof his shoe. Then he looked up. 

Out there, over the water, was the Jefferson Memorial. It stood, whitein the floodlights, beautiful and untouchable in the darkness. Malonestared at it. What would Thomas Jefferson have done in a crisis likethis?

Jefferson, he told himself without much conviction, would have been justas confused as he was. 

But he'd have had to find a telepath, Malone thought. Malone determinedthat he would do likewise. If Thomas Jefferson could do it, the leasthe, 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 thecontinent toward Nevada. He had gone home to sleep, and he'd had to wakeup 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 middlestratosphere's thinly distributed molecules. Malone looked out at thepurple-dark sky and set himself to think out his problem again. 

He was still mulling things over when the ship lowered its landing gearand rolled to a stop on the big field near Yucca Flats. Malone sighedand climbed slowly out of his seat. There was a car waiting for him atthe airfield, though, and that seemed to presage a smooth time; Maloneremembered calling Dr. O'Connor the night before, and congratulatedhimself on his foresight. 

Unfortunately, when he reached the main gate of the high double fencethat surrounded the more than ninety square miles of United StatesLaboratories, he found out that entrance into that sanctum sanctorum ofSecurity wasn't as easy as he'd imagined--not even for an FBI man. Hiscredentials were checked with the kind of minute care Malone had alwaysthought people reserved for disputed art masterpieces, and it was with agreat show of reluctance that the Special Security guards passed himinside as far as the office of the Chief Security Officer. 

There, the Chief Security Officer himself, a man who could have doubledfor Torquemada, eyed Malone with ill-concealed suspicion while he calledBurris at FBI headquarters back in Washington. 

Burris identified Malone on the video screen and the Chief SecurityOfficer, looking faintly disappointed, stamped the agent's pass andthanked the FBI chief. Malone had the run of the place. 

Then he had to find a courier jeep. The Westinghouse division, itseemed, was a good two miles away. 

As Malone knew perfectly well, the main portion of the entire YuccaFlats area was devoted solely to research on the new space drive whichwas expected to make the rocket as obsolete as the blunderbuss--at leastas far as space travel was concerned. Not, Malone thought uneasily, thatthe blunderbuss had ever been used for space travel, but--

He got off the subject hurriedly. The jeep whizzed by buildings, most ofthem devoted to aspects of the non-rocket drive. The other projectsbased at Yucca Flats had to share what space was left--and thatincluded, of course, the Westinghouse research project. 

It turned out to be a single, rather small white building with a fencearound it. The fence bothered Malone a little, but there was no need toworry; this time he was introduced at once into Dr. O'Connor's office. It was paneled in wallpaper manufactured to look like pine, and thetelepathy expert sat behind a large black desk bigger than any Malonehad ever seen in the FBI offices. There wasn't a scrap of paper on thedesk; its surface was smooth and shiny, and behind it the nearlytransparent Dr. Thomas O'Connor was close to invisible. 

He looked, in person, just about the same as he'd looked on the FBItapes. Malone closed the door of the office behind him, looked for achair and didn't find one. In Dr. O'Connor's office, it was perfectlyobvious, Dr. O'Connor sat down. You stood, and were uncomfortable. 

 * * * * *

Malone took off his hat. He reached across the desk to shake hands withthe telepathy expert, and Dr. O'Connor gave him a limp and fragile paw. "Thanks for giving me a little time, " Malone said. "I really appreciateit. " 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 ownspecial quick-frozen brand. "I realize how important FBI work is to allof us, Mr. Malone. What can I do to help you?"

Malone shifted his feet. "I'm afraid I wasn't very specific on the phonelast night, " he said. "It wasn't anything I wanted to discuss over aline 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 firstthing I want to ask you about is this detector of yours. I understandit's too big to carry around--but how about making a smaller model?"

"Smaller?" Dr. O'Connor permitted himself a ghostly chuckle. "I'm afraidthat isn't possible, Mr. Malone. I would be happy to let you have asmall model of the machine if we had one available--more than happy. Iwould 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 thefirst place, the person being analyzed has to be in a specially shieldedroom, such as is used in encephalographic analysis. Otherwise, themental activity of the other persons around him would interfere with theanalysis. " He frowned a little. "I wish that we knew a bit more aboutpsionic machines. The trouble with the present device, frankly, is thatit is partly psionic and partly electronic, and we can't be entirelysure where one part leaves off and the other begins. Very trying. Verytrying indeed. "

"I'll bet it is, " Malone said sympathetically, wishing he understoodwhat Dr. O'Connor was talking about. 

The telepathy expert sighed. "However, " he said, "we keep working atit. " Then he looked at Malone expectantly. 

Malone shrugged. "Well, if I can't carry the thing around, I guessthat's that, " he said. "But here's the next question: Do you happen toknow the maximum range of a telepath? I mean: How far away can he getfrom 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 workwith. 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 hejust hadn't associated "Charles O'Neill" with "Little Charlie. " He feltas if he'd been caught with his homework undone. "How did you manage tofind him, anyway?" he said. Maybe, if he knew how Westinghouse had foundtheir imbecile-telepath, he'd have some kind of clue that would enablehim 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. Imean that he babbled. Literally. Here: I've got a sample recording in myfiles. " He got up from his chair and went to the tall gray filingcabinet that hid in a far corner of the pine-paneled room. From a drawerhe 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'tfeel it was necessary. " He opened a panel in the upper surface of thedesk, 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 thegreat desk. For a second the room was silent. 

Then there was the hiss of empty tape, and a brisk masculine voice thatoverrode it:

"Westinghouse Laboratories, " it said, "sixteen April nineteen-seventy. Dr. Walker speaking. The voice you are about to hear belongs to CharlesO'Neill: chronological age fourteen years, three months; mental age, approximately five years. Further data on this case will be found in thefile _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 . .. Andperhaps a different set of . .. Poor kid never makes any sense in . .. Trees and leaves all sunny with the . .. Electronic components of thereducing stage might be . .. Not as predictable when others are aroundbut . .. To go with Sally some night in the. .. . "

It was a childish, alto voice, gabbling in a monotone. A phrase would bespoken, the voice would hesitate for just an instant, and then another, totally disconnected phrase would come. The enunciation andpronunciation would vary from phrase to phrase, but the tone remainedessentially the same, drained of all emotional content. 

". .. In receiving psychocerebral impulses there isn't any . .. Nonsenseand nothing but nonsense all the . .. Tomorrow or maybe Saturday with thegirl . .. Tube might be replaceable only if . .. Something ought to bedone for the . .. Saturday would be a good time for . .. Work on theschematics tonight if. .. . "

There was a click as the tape was turned off, and Dr. O'Connor lookedup. 

"It doesn't make much sense, " Malone said. "But the kid sure has a hellof 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. WhatCharlie is doing is simply repeating the thoughts of those around him. He jumps from mind to mind, simply repeating whatever he receives. " Hisface assumed the expression of a man remembering a bad taste in hismouth. "That's how we found him out, Mr. Malone, " he said. "It's ratherstartling to look at a blithering idiot and have him suddenly repeat thevery thought that's in your mind. "

Malone nodded unhappily. It didn't seem as if O'Connor's information wasgoing 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'tlook like very good material for catching spies with. 

Then he brightened. "Is it possible that the spy we're looking forreally isn't a spy?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, suppose he's an imbecile, too? I doubt whether an imbecilewould really be a spy, if you see what I mean. "

Dr. O'Connor appeared to consider the notion. After a little while hesaid: "It is, I suppose, possible. But the readings on the machine don'tgive us the same timing as they did in Charlie's case--or even the samesort of timing. "

"I don't quite follow you, " Malone said. Truthfully, he felt about threemiles 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. Maloneshifted his feet again and transferred his hat from his right hand tohis left hand. 

"We put one of our test subjects in the insulated room, " Dr. O'Connorsaid, "and connected him to the detector. He was to read from a book--abook that was not too common. This was, of course, to obviate the chancethat some other person nearby might be reading it, or might have read itin the past. We picked 'The Blood is the Death, ' by HieronymusMelanchthon, which, as you may know, is a very rare book indeed. "

"Sure, " Malone said. He had never heard of the book, but he was, afterall, 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 hiseyes in order for us to tell just what he was reading at any givenmoment, in order to correlate what was going on in his mind with thereactions of the machine's indicators, if you follow me. "

Malone nodded helplessly. 

"At the same time, " Dr. O'Connor continued blithely, "we had Charlie ina nearby room, recording his babblings. Every so often, he would comeout with quotations from 'The Blood is the Death, ' and these quotationscorresponded 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. Hethought of several responses and chose one. "I see, " he said. 

"But the important thing here, " Dr. O'Connor said, "is the timing. Yousee, Charlie was incapable of continued concentration. He could not keephis mind focused on another mind for very long, before he hopped tostill another. The actual amount of time concentrated on any given mindat any single given period varied from a minimum of one point threeseconds to a maximum of two point six. The timing samples, when plottedgraphically over a period of several months, formed a skewed bell curvewith a mode at two point oh seconds. "

"Ah, " Malone said, wondering if a skewed bell curve was the same thingas a belled skew curve, and if not, why not?

"It was, in fact, " Dr. O'Connor continued relentlessly, "a suddenvariation in those timings which convinced us that there was anothertelepath somewhere in the vicinity. We were conducting a second set ofreading experiments, in precisely the same manner as the first set, and, for the first part of the experiment, our figures were substantially thesame. But--" He stopped. 

"Yes?" Malone said, shifting his feet and trying to take some weight offhis left foot by standing on his right leg. Then he stood on his leftleg. It didn't seem to do any good. 

"I should explain, " Dr. O'Connor said, "that we were conducting thisseries with a new set of test subjects: some of the scientists here atYucca Flats. We wanted to see if the intelligence quotients of thesubjects affected the time of contact which Charlie was able tomaintain. Naturally, we picked the men here with the highest IQ's, thetwo men we have who are in the top echelon of the creative geniusclass. " 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 connectedwith the project known as Project Isle--an operation whose function Ineither 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 youcould think of. 

"At first, " Dr. O'Connor was saying, "our detector recorded the timeperiods of . .. Ah mental invasion as being the same as before. Then, oneday, anomalies began to appear. The detector showed that the minds ofour subjects were being held for as long as two or three minutes. Butthe phrases repeated by Charlie during these periods showed that his owncontact time remained the same; that is, they fell within the sameskewed bell curve as before, and the mode remained constant if nothingbut 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 thedetector machine, " he went on. "That worried us not somewhat, since ourunderstanding of the detector is definitely limited at this time. We dofeel that it would be possible to replace some of the electroniccomponents with appropriate symbolization like that already used in thepurely psionic sections, but we have, as yet, been unable to determineexactly which electronic components must be replaced by what symboliccomponents. "

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 ofalphabet soup, and that he, Malone, was occupied in drowning in it. 

"However, " Dr. O'Connor said, breaking what was left of Malone's trainof thought, "young Charlie died soon thereafter, and we decided to go onchecking the machine. It was during this period that we found someoneelse reading the minds of our test subjects--sometimes for a fewseconds, sometimes for several minutes. "

"Aha, " Malone said. Things were beginning to make sense again. _Someoneelse. _ That, of course, was the spy. 

"I found, " Dr. O'Connor said, "on interrogating the subjects moreclosely, that they were, in effect, thinking on two levels. They werereading the book mechanically, noting the words and sense, but simplyshuttling the material directly into their memories without actuallythinking about it. The actual thinking portions of their minds wereconcentrating on aspects of Project Isle. "

 * * * * *

"In other words, " Malone said, "someone was spying on them forinformation 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 Charliehad ever attained. He seems to be able to retain contact as long as hecan 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 todo with it?"

"Well, " Malone said, "if he knows you and your group are working ontelepathy and can detect what he's doing, why didn't he just hold off onthe minds of those geniuses when they were being tested in yourmachine?"

Dr. O'Connor frowned. "I'm afraid that I can't be sure, " he said, and itwas clear from his tone that, if Dr. Thomas O'Connor wasn't sure, no onein the entire world was, had been, or ever would be. "I do have atheory, however, " he said, brightening up a trifle. 

Malone waited patiently. 

"He must know our limitations, " Dr. O'Connor said at last. "He must beperfectly well aware that there's not a single thing we can _do_ abouthim. He must know that we can neither find nor stop him. Why should heworry? He can afford to ignore us--or even bait us. We're helpless, andhe knows it. "

That, Malone thought, was about the most cheerless thought he had heardin some time. 

"You mentioned that you had an insulated room, " the FBI agent saidafter a while. "Couldn't you let your men think in there?"

Dr. O'Connor sighed. "The room is shielded against magnetic fields andelectromagnetic radiation. It is perfectly transparent to psionicphenomena, just as it is to gravitational fields. "

"Oh, " Malone said. He realized rapidly that his question had been alittle silly to begin with, since the insulated room had been the placewhere all the tests had been conducted in the first place. "I don't wantto take up too much of your time, doctor, " he said after a pause, "butthere are a couple of other questions. "

"Go right ahead, " Dr. O'Connor said. "I'm sure I'll be able to helpyou. "

Malone thought of mentioning how little help the doctor had been todate, but decided against it. Why antagonize a perfectly good scientistwithout any reason? Instead, he selected his first question, and askedit. "Have you got any idea how we might lay our hands on anothertelepath? Preferably one that's not an imbecile, of course. "

Dr. O Connor's expression changed from patient wisdom to irritation. "Iwish we could, Mr. Malone. I wish we could. We certainly need one hereto 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 anothertelepath. Finding little Charlie was purely fortuitous--purely, Mr. Malone, fortuitous. "

"Ah, " Malone said. "Sure. Of course. " He thought rapidly and discoveredthat 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 rememberthe answers. "Well, " he said, "I guess that's about it, then, doctor. Ifyou 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, " hesaid. "And I'll certainly give you all the information I can. "

Malone turned and walked out. Surprisingly, he discovered that his feetand legs still worked. He had thought they'd turned to stone in theoffice long before. 

 * * * * *

It was on the plane back to Washington that Malone got his first inklingof an idea. 

The only telepath that the Westinghouse boys had been able to turn upwas Charles O'Neill, the youthful imbecile. 

All right, then. Suppose there were another one like him. Imbecilesweren't very difficult to locate. Most of them would be in institutions, and the others would certainly be on record. It might be possible tofind someone, anyway, who could be handled and used as a tool to find atelepathic spy. 

And--happy thought!--maybe one of them would turn out to be ahigh-grade imbecile, or even a moron. 

[Illustration]

Even if they only turned up another imbecile, he thought wearily, atleast Dr. O'Connor would have something to work with. 

He reported back to Burris when he arrived in Washington, told him aboutthe interview with Dr. O'Connor, and explained what had come to seem arather feeble brainstorm. 

"It doesn't seem too productive, " Burris said, with a shade ofdisappointment in his voice, "but we'll try it. "

At that, it was a better verdict than Malone had hoped for. He hadnothing to do but wait, while orders went out to field agents all overthe United States, and quietly, but efficiently, the FBI went to work. Agents probed and pried and poked their noses into the files and datasheets of every mental institution in the fifty states--as far, at anyrate, as they were able. 

It was not an easy job. The inalienable right of a physician to refuseto disclose confidences respecting a patient applied even to idiots, imbeciles, and morons. Not even the FBI could open the private files ofa licensed and registered psychiatrist. 

But the field agents did the best they could and, considering thecircumstances, their best was pretty good. 

Malone, meanwhile, put in two weeks sitting glumly at his Washingtondesk and checking reports as they arrived. They were uniformlydepressing. The United States of America contained more subnormal mindsthan Malone cared to think about. There seemed to be enough of them toexplain the results of any election you were unhappy over. Unfortunately, subnormal was all you could call them. Not one of themappeared to possess any abnormal psionic abilities whatever. 

There were a couple who were reputed to be poltergeists--but in neithercase was there a single shred of evidence to substantiate the claim. 

At the end of the second week, Malone was just about convinced that hisidea had been a total washout. A full fortnight had been spent ondigging up imbeciles, while the spy at Yucca Flats had been going righton his merry way, scooping information out of the men at Project Isle asthough he were scooping beans out of a pot. And, very likely, laughinghimself silly at the feeble efforts of the FBI. 

Who could he be?

_Anyone_, Malone told himself unhappily. _Anyone at all. _ He could bethe janitor that swept out the buildings, one of the guards at the gate, one of the minor technicians on another project, or even some oldprospector 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 thebrains 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 UnitedStates--that, in other words, there was some effective range totelepathic communication. Otherwise, there was no point in bothering tocontinue the search. 

Therefore, he found one other thing to do. He alerted every agent to thejob of discovering how the spy was getting his information out of thecountry. 

He doubted that it would turn up anything, but it was a chance. AndMalone hoped desperately for it, because he was beginning to be surethat the field agents were never going to turn up any telepathicimbeciles. 

He was right. 

They never did. 

III

The telephone rang. 

Malone rolled over on the couch and muttered under his breath. Was itabsolutely necessary for someone to call him at seven in the morning?

He grabbed at the receiver with one hand, and picked up his cigar fromthe ashtray with the other. It was bad enough to be awakened from asound sleep--but when a man hadn't been sleeping at all, it was evenworse. 

He'd been sitting up since before five that morning, worrying about thetelepathic spy, and at the moment he wanted sleep more than he wantedphone calls. 

"Gur?" he said, sleepily and angrily, thankful that he'd never had avisiphone installed in his apartment. 

A feminine voice said: "Mr. Kenneth J. Malone?"

"Who's this?" Malone said peevishly, beginning to discover himselfcapable 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 Boydis calling, sir. He says this is a scramble call. "

Malone took a drag from his cigar and closed his eyes. Obviously thecall was a scramble. If it had been clear, the man would have dialeddirect, instead of going through what Malone now recognized as anoperator. 

"Mr. Boyd says he is the Agent-in-Charge of the San Francisco office ofthe 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 anotherclick. 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. Ormaybe it is. I don't know. "

Malone scowled at the audio receiver, and for the first time wished hehad gone ahead and had a video circuit put in, so that Boyd could seethe horrendous expression on his face. 

"Look, " he said. "It's seven here and that's too early. Out there, it'sfour, and that's practically ridiculous. What's so important?"

He knew perfectly well that Boyd wasn't calling him just for the fun ofit. The man was a good agent. But why a call at this hour?

Malone muttered under his breath. Then, self-consciously, he squashedout his cigar and lit a cigarette while Boyd was saying: "Ken, I thinkwe may have found what you've been looking for. "

It wasn't safe to say too much, even over a scrambled circuit. ButMalone 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 isworth your taking a personal look, I think. "

"Ah, " Malone said cautiously. "An imbecile?"

"No, " Boyd said flatly. "Not an imbecile. Definitely not an imbecile. Asa matter of fact, a hell of a fat long way from an imbecile. "

Malone glanced at his watch and skimmed over the airline timetables inhis mind. "I'll be there nine o'clock, your time, " he said. "Have a carwaiting for me at the field. "

 * * * * *

As usual, Malone managed to sleep better on the plane than he'd beenable to do at home. He slept so well, in fact, that he was still groggywhen 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?" Helooked 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 isthis guy, and who is he? And how did you find him?"

Boyd looked uncomfortable. It was, somehow, both an awe-inspiring and aslightly risible sight. Six feet one and one half inches tall in hisflat feet, Boyd ported around over two hundred and twenty pounds ofbone, flesh and muscle. He swung a potbelly of startling proportionsunder the silk shirting he wore, and his face, with its wide nose, smalleyes and high forehead, was half highly mature, half startlinglychildlike. In an apparent effort to erase those childlike qualities, Boyd sported a fringe of beard and a mustache which reminded Malone ofsomebody he couldn't quite place. 

But whoever the somebody was, his hair hadn't been black, as Boyd'swas--

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 notexactly 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, Ijust don't think I could stand a telepathic horse--"

"No, " Boyd said hastily. "No. Not at all. No horse. It's a dame. I meana 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 anythingabout her just yet. I'd rather you met her first. Then you could make upyour own mind. All right?"

"All right, " Malone said wearily. "Do it your own way. How far do wehave 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 coffeeon the plane. Maybe it would have made him feel better. 

Then again, coffee was only coffee. True, he had never acquired hisfather's taste for gin, but there was always bourbon. 

He thought about bourbon for a few minutes. It was a nice thought. Itwarmed him and made him feel a lot better. After a while, he even feltawake 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?" hesaid tentatively. "Or would the technicians have found that, too?"

"Better not have, " Boyd said in the same tone as before, "or I'll fire acouple of technicians. " He grinned without turning. "It's in the doorcompartment, next to the forty-five cartridges and the Tommy gun. "

Malone opened the compartment in the thick door of the car and extracteda bottle. It was brandy instead of the bourbon he had been thinkingabout, but he discovered that he didn't mind at all. It went down assmoothly 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'tover two seconds later that Boyd said: "We're here, Ken. Wake up. "

"Whadyamean, wakeup, " Malone said. "I wasn't asleep. " He thumbed his hatback 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 tellme--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 usyesterday. One of my field agents was out here asking around aboutimbeciles and so on. Found nothing, by the way. And then this Dr. Harmancalled, later. Said he had someone here I might be interested in. So Icame on out myself for a look, yesterday afternoon . .. After all, we hadinstructions 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 anythingmyself. But . .. Well, hell. You take a look at her. "

He pulled the car up to a parking space, slid nonchalantly into a slotmarked _Reserved--Executive Director Sutton_, and slid out from underthe wheel while Malone got out the other side. 

 * * * * *

They marched up the broad steps, through the doorway and into theglass-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 thehall 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 onit. Without ceremony, Boyd pushed the door open. Malone followed himinside. 

The office was small but sunny. Dr. Willard Harman sat behind ablond-wood desk, a chunky little man with crew-cut blond hair andrimless 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, andrevised his first guess upward between ten and fifteen years. 

"Come in, gentlemen, " Dr. Harman boomed. His voice was that rarity, areally loud high tenor. 

"Dr. Harman, " Boyd said, "this is my superior, Mr. Malone. We'd like tohave a talk with Miss Thompson. "

"I anticipated that, sir, " Dr. Harman said. "Miss Thompson is in thenext room. Have you explained to Mr. Malone that--"

"I haven't explained a thing, " Boyd said quickly, and added in what wasobviously intended to be a casual tone: "Mr. Malone wants to get apicture 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 tookone look. It was a long, long look. Standing framed in the doorway, dressed in the starched white of a nurse's uniform, was the mostbeautiful blonde he had ever seen. 

She had curves. She definitely had curves. As a matter of fact, Malonedidn't really think he had ever seen curves before. These were somethingnew 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 andfaces 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 forevery anatomical term. Even a term like "hands. " Malone had never seenanything especially arousing in the human hand before--anyway, not whenthe hand was just lying around, so to speak, attached to its wrist butnot doing anything in particular. But these hands, long, slender andtapering, white and cool-looking. .. . 

And yet, it wasn't just the sheer physical beauty of the girl. She hadsomething else, something more and something different. (_Somethingborrowed_, Malone thought in a semi-delirious haze, _and somethingblue_. ) Personality? Character? Soul?

Whatever it was, Malone decided, this girl had it. She had enough of itto supply the entire human race, and any others that might exist in theUniverse. 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. Thenotion that a telepath would turn out to be this mind-searing Epitomehad never crossed his mind, but now, somehow, it seemed perfectlyfitting and proper. 

"Good morning, Miss Thompson, " he said in what he hoped was a winningvoice. 

The smile disappeared. It was like the sun going out. 

The vision appeared to be troubled. Malone was about to volunteer hishelp--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 oldlady, with apple-red cheeks and twinkling eyes. She held some knittingin her hands, and she smiled up at the FBI men as if they were hergrandsons come for tea and cookies, of a Sunday afternoon. 

She had snow-white hair that shone like a crown around her old head inthe 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 theunbelievably 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 countingme. I know I'm not Miss Thompson. I never was, not even as a child. AndDr. Harman isn't, and Miss Wilson isn't, and Whistler'sGreat-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 tellme--"

The little old lady cleared her throat. A silence fell. When it wascomplete she spoke, and her voice was as sweet and kindly as anythingMalone had ever heard. 

"You may call me Miss Thompson, " she said. "For the present, at anyrate. 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 ifyou talk I can barely think. " He took off his hat suddenly, and begantwisting 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 youhave to use a pseudonym. " He blinked at the little old lady. "Why?"

"Well, " she said, "otherwise people would find out about my littlesecret. "

"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 tohim that anyone in the room was breathing. 

He said: "Oh, " again, but it didn't sound any better than it had thefirst 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 teethgrimly and asked it. It came out just a trifle indistinct, but thelittle old lady nodded. 

"My real name?" she said. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Tudor, of course. I usedto 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 takeit. " He twisted his hat again and turned back to the little old lady. 

"You're immortal, and you're not really Miss Thompson, but QueenElizabeth I?" he said slowly. 

"That's right, " she said. "How clever of you. Of course, after littleJimmy--cousin Mary's boy, I mean--said I was dead and claimed theThrone, I decided to change my name and all. And that's what I did. ButI 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 hewill? Because I'm sure I'll like your Mr. Burris, too. All of you FBImen 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 andturned to the little old lady. _Can you really read my mind?_ he thoughtdeliberately. After a second he added: _. .. Your majesty?_

"How sweet of you, Mr. Malone, " she said. "Nobody's called me that forcenturies. But of course I can. Although it's not reading, really. Afterall, that would be like asking if I can read your voice. Of course Ican, Mr. Malone. "

"That does it, " Malone said. "I'm not a hard man to convince. And when Isee the truth, I'm the first one to admit it, even if it makes me looklike a nut. " He turned back to the little old lady. "Begging yourpardon, " he said. 

"Oh, my, " the little old lady said. "I really don't mind at all. Sticksand 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 manyhundreds of years--"

"Sure, " Malone said easily. 

Boyd broke in. "Listen, Malone, " he said, "do you mind telling me whatis going on?"

"It's very simple, " Malone said. "Miss Thompson here . .. Pardon me; Imean Queen Elizabeth I . .. Really is a telepath. That's all. I think Iwant 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 soconfused. Poor Mr. Malone is terribly shaken up by everything. " Shestood up, still holding her knitting, and went across the room. Beforethe astonished eyes of the doctor and nurse, and Tom Boyd, she pattedthe FBI agent on the shoulder. "There, there, Mr. Malone, " she said. "Itwill all be perfectly all right. You'll see. " Then she returned to herseat. 

Malone opened his eyes. He turned to Dr. Harman. "You called up Boydhere, " he said, "and told him that . .. Er . .. Miss Thompson was atelepath. Howd' you know?"

"It's all right, " the little old lady put in from her chair. "I don'tmind your calling me Miss Thompson, not right now, anyhow. "

"Thanks, " Malone said faintly. 

Dr. Harman was blinking in a kind of befuddled astonishment. "You meanshe really _is_ a--" He stopped and brought his tenor voice to asqueaking halt, regained his professional poise, and began again. "I'drather 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 wishyou'd give your own Queen credit for some ability. Goodness knows youthink _you're_ smart enough. "

"Now, now, Miss Thompson, " he said in what was obviously his best GradeA Choice Government Inspected couchside manner. "Don't. .. . "

". .. Upset yourself, " she finished for him. "Now, really, doctor. I knowwhat you're going to tell them. "

"But Miss Thompson, I--"

"You didn't honestly think I _was_ a telepath, " the little old ladysaid. "Heavens, we know that. And you're going to tell them how I usedto say I could read minds . .. Oh, years and years ago. And because ofthat you thought it might be worth while to tell the FBI about me--whichwasn't very kind of you, doctor, before you knew anything about why theywanted somebody like me. "

 * * * * *

"Now, now, Miss Thompson, " Miss Wilson said, walking across the room toput an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. Malone wished for onebrief second that he were the old little old lady. Maybe if he were apatient 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 courseit 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 theold lady. "You'll be perfectly all right and you don't have to worryabout a thing. "

"Oh, yes, dear, I know that, " the little old lady said. "You only wantto help me, dear. You're so kind. And these FBI men really don't meanany harm. But Dr. Harman didn't know that. He just thinks I'm crazy andthat's all. "

"Please, Miss Thompson--" Dr. Harman began. 

"Just crazy, that's all, " the little old lady said. She turned away fora second and nobody said anything. Then she turned back. "Do you allknow 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 toprove all this to you years ago. And besides that, he's thinkingabout--"

[Illustration]

"Miss Thompson, " Dr. Harman said. His bedside manner had cracked throughand his voice was harsh and strained. "Please. "

"Oh, all right, " she said, a little petulantly. "If you want to keep allthat private. "

Malone broke in suddenly, fascinated. "Why didn't you prove you weretelepathic before now?" he said. 

The little old lady smiled at him. "Why, because you wouldn't havebelieved me, " she said. She dropped her knitting neatly in her lap andfolded her hands over it. "None of you _wanted_ to believe me, " shesaid, and sniffed. Miss Wilson moved nervously and she looked up. "Anddon't tell me it's going to be all right. I know it's going to be allright. I'm going to make sure of that. "

Malone felt a sudden chill. But it was obvious, he told himself, thatthe little old lady didn't mean what she was saying. She smiled at himagain, and her smile was as sweet and guileless as the smile on the faceof his very own sainted grandmother. 

Not that Malone remembered his grandmother; she had died before he'dbeen born. But if he'd had a grandmother, and if he'd remembered her, hewas sure she would have had the same sweet smile. 

So she couldn't have meant what she'd said. Would Malone's owngrandmother make things difficult for him? The very idea was ridiculous. 

Dr. Harman opened his mouth, apparently changed his mind, and shut itagain. 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 atelepath, and that's enough for Mr. Malone. Isn't it?"

"Gur, " Malone said, taken by surprise. After a second he added: "I guessso. "

"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'swhat 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 hewould never laugh again. He wanted to cry, a little, but he didn't thinkhe'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. Harmanagain. 

"But, " she said, "since it will make you feel so much better, doctor, wegive you our Royal permission to retire, and to speak to Mr. Malonealone. "

"Malone alone, " Dr. Harman muttered. "Hm-m-m. My. Well. " He turned andseemed 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. "Allright, " he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go. " He turned with thebarest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him. Leaving the little oldlady and, unfortunately, the startling Miss Wilson, behind, theprocession filed back into Dr. Harman's office. 

 * * * * *

The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. Helooked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the world wassquare. 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'sbeen reading my mind! My mind. She's been reading . .. Looking right intomy mind, or whatever it is. "

"Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had droppedgratefully 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 blankstare. 

"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. "IsKenneth J. Malone there?"

"Mr. Malone?" the psychiatrist said. "I mean, Mr. Burris? Mr. Malone ishere. 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 tuckedin. "

"Tucked in?" Dr. Harman gave the phone a sudden smile. "A joke, " hesaid. "It _is_ a joke, isn't it? The way things have been happening, younever know whether--"

"A joke, " Burris' voice said. "That's right. Yes. Am I talking to one ofthe 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 feelconfused 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 QueenElizabeth 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 originalone. 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 saidconfidently: "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 beimmortal?"

The psychiatrist shook his head decisively. "She's been here for overforty years, Mr. Malone, ever since her late teens. Her records show allthat, and her birth certificate is in perfect order. Not a chance. "

Malone sighed and turned back to the phone. "Of course she isn'timmortal, 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 outto 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 falseair of confidence. "You get this Queen Elizabeth of yours out of thereand take her to Yucca Flats, too. "

Malone considered the possibilities. Maybe they would find moretelepaths. Maybe all the telepaths would be nuts. It didn't seemunlikely. Imagine having a talent that nobody would believe you had. Itmight very easily drive you crazy to be faced with a situation likethat. 

And there they would be in Yucca Flats. Kenneth J. Malone, and aconvention 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 elsecan 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 araise and a better job when all this is over. Who else would havethought 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 usethem now. We have to find that spy!" He took a breath. "On to YuccaFlats!" 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 forMiss Thompson?"

Harman stared at him. "But, Mr. Malone, " he said, "that just isn'tpossible. Really. Miss Thompson is a ward of the state, and we couldn'tpossibly allow her release without a court order. "

Malone thought that over. "O. K. , " he said at last. "I can see that. " Heturned to Boyd. "Here's a job for you, Tom, " he said. "Get one of thejudges 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. Fastworker. "

"I don't care who, " Malone said. "Just get going, and get us a releasefor 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 addedhurriedly. 

"Her full name, " Dr. Harman said, "is Rose Walker Thompson. She is notQueen Elizabeth I, II, or XXVIII, and she is not immortal. "

"But she is, " Malone pointed out, "a telepath. And that's why I wanther. "

"She may, " Dr. Harman said, "be a telepath. " It was obvious that he hadpartly managed to forget the disturbing incidents that had happened afew 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 orderfor Rose Walker Thompson. Effective yesterday--day before, if possible. "

Boyd nodded, but before he could get to the phone Dr. Harman spokeagain. 

"Now, wait a moment, gentlemen, " he said. "Court order or no courtorder, Miss Thompson is definitely not a well woman, and I can't see myway clear to--"

"I'm not well myself, " Malone said. "I need sleep and I probably have acold. 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 menturned to stare at Miss Wilson, who stood in the doorway for a longsecond and then stepped into the office, closing the door quietly behindher. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, " she said. 

"Not at all, " Malone said. "It's a pleasure to have you. Come againsoon. " He smiled at her. 

She didn't smile back. "Doctor, " she said, "you better talk to MissThompson. 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 hespoke softly. 

"The poor dear thinks she's going to get out of the hospital now, " MissWilson said. "For some reason, she's convinced that the FBI is going toget 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, orclimb fire. He felt confused, but wonderful. "Barbara, " she said. 

"Lovely, " he said. "Well, Barbara . .. And please call me Ken. It's shortfor 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'reBarbara. "

Boyd cleared his throat. 

"Ah, " Malone said. "Yes. Of course. Well, Barbara . .. Well, that's justwhat 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 staringat a point on his desk. "She couldn't possibly have heard us, " hemuttered. "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 forthe national security. "

"She heard us thinking, " Dr. Harman muttered. "That's what; she heard usthinking. Behind a soundproof door. She can see inside their minds. Shecan 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 shedo outside these walls? She hasn't left in over forty years! Andfurthermore, 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 nicemen take me away and everything will be fine, believe me. Besides, I'vebeen outside more often than you imagine. "

"Outside?" Barbara said. 

"Of course, " the little old lady said. "In other people's minds. Evenyours. 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 evenheard of. _He_ wasn't a nice young man; he was an FBI agent, and heliked to drink and smoke cigars and carouse. 

All nice young men, he decided, should be turned into ugly old men assoon as possible. That'd fix them!

He noticed the little old lady smiling at him, and tried to change histhoughts 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 impressivenoise, and everyone turned to look at him. His face was a little gray, but he looked, otherwise, like a rather pudgy, blond, crew-cut Romanemperor. 

"Just a moment, " he said with dignity, "I think you're doing the UnitedStates of America a grave injustice, Miss Wilson--and that you're doingan 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 fromhere, " 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 longdistance 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 thebest thing for me . .. I mean, of course, for Miss Thompson. I shallrecommend that the court so order. "

"Doctor--" But even Barbara saw, Malone could tell, that it was no goodarguing with Dr. Harman. She tried a last attack. "Doctor, who's goingto take care of her?"

A light the size and shape of North America burst in Malone's mind. Healmost chortled. But he managed to keep his voice under control. "Whatshe needs, " he said, "is a trained psychiatric nurse. "

Barbara Wilson gave him a look that had carloads of U{235} stacked awayin 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 ladysaid. Malone looked at her and was rewarded with another wink. 

"I'm certainly glad you thought of Barbara, " the little old lady wenton. "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 lookedat 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--" Shestopped and wiped what Malone thought was a tear from onecornflower-blue eye. 

"Now, now, Miss Thompson, " Barbara said. 

"I'm not sad, " the little old lady said, smiling up at her. "I'm just sovery happy. I am about to get my reward, my well-deserved reward atlast, from all of my loyal subjects. You'll see. " She paused and Malonefelt 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'tcalled. He had to report in, of course--but, if he'd had any sense, he'dhave ordered Boyd to do the job for him. 

Oh, well, it was too late for that now. "I'm in Las Vegas, " he said. "Itried to get you last night, but I couldn't, so I--"

"Las Vegas, " Burris said. "Well, well. Las Vegas. " His face darkened andhis voice became very loud. "Why aren't you in Yucca Flats?" hescreamed. 

"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. " Hewent right on without a pause: "The boys have uncovered two more invarious parts of the nation. Not one of them is even close to sane. " Heopened 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 Burrissaid: "All right. Get him out. "

"Right, " Malone said. 

"Tell me, " Burris said. "Why did Miss Thompson insist that you go to LasVegas? 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 thoseother telepaths in?"

"Pretty bad, " Burris said. "As a matter of fact, very bad. Miss Thompsonmay be off her trolley, but the others haven't even got any tracks. " Hepaused. "What's that got to do with it?" he said. 

"Well, " Malone said, "I figured we'd better handle Miss Thompson withkid gloves--at least until we find a better telepath to work with. " Hedidn't mention Barbara Wilson. The chief, he told himself, didn't wantto be bothered with details. 

[Illustration]

"Doggone right you'd better, " Burris said. "You treat that old lady asif she were the Queen herself, understand?"

"Don't worry, " Malone said unhappily. "We are. " He hesitated. "She saysshe'll help us find our spy, all right, but we've got to do it herway--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 andpick this guy up. This William Logan, who's in a private sanitarium justoutside of Las Vegas. That's number one. Miss Thompson wants to get allthe telepaths together, so they can hold mental conversations orsomething. "

"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 gofishing, or just plain shoot ourselves. But right now the nationalsecurity 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 fromYucca Flats. If she wants something, Malone, you do it. "

"But, chief--"

"Don't interrupt me, " Burris said. "If she wants to be treated like aqueen, you treat her like one. Malone, that's an order!"

"Yes, sir, " Malone said sadly. "But, chief, she wants us to buy her somenew clothes. "

Burris exploded: "Is that all? New clothes? Get 'em. Put 'em on theexpense 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 expenseaccount. You don't think I'm going to quibble about a few dollars, doyou?"

"Well--"

"Get the clothes. Just don't bother me with details like this. Handlethe job yourself, Malone--you're in charge out there. And get to YuccaFlats 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' voicestopped 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 windowof the hotel room. Outside, a huge sign told the world, and Malone, thatthis 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 aqueen. "

"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 anygood. They've only got cowboy stuff and bullfighters' costumes andMexican 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 theexpense account, isn't it?"

"Expense account, " Malone said. "Sure it is. "

Boyd looked relieved. "Good, " he said. "Because I had the proprietorphone her size in, to New York. "

"Better get two of 'em, " Malone said. "The chief said anything shewanted, she was supposed to have. "

"I'll go back right away. I told him we wanted the stuff on theafternoon plane, so--"

"And give him Bar . .. Miss Wilson's size, and yours, and mine. Tell himto 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 firstjob is to keep Miss Thompson happy. And that means costumes. And what'smore, " 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. Itwould be a relief. "

"Me, too, " Boyd said. He started for the door and turned. "I wish Icould have stayed in San Francisco, " he said. "Why should she insist ontaking _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 cando 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 paperand handed it to Boyd. "That's a list of my clothing sizes. Get anotherlist from B . .. Miss Wilson. " Boyd nodded. Malone thought he detected astrange glint in the other man's eye. "Don't measure her yourself, " hesaid. "Just ask her. "

Boyd scratched his bearded chin and nodded slowly. "All right, Ken, " hesaid. "But if we just don't get anywhere, don't blame me. "

"If you get anywhere, " Malone said, "I'll snatch you baldheaded. AndI'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 backlooked, to Malone, like the back of a man on his way to the scaffold orguillotine. 

The door closed. 

Now, Malone thought, who does that beard remind me of? Who do I know whoknows Miss Thompson?

And what difference does it make?

Nevertheless, he told himself, Boyd's beard was really an admirable factof nature. Ever since beards had become popular again in themid-sixties, and FBI agents had been permitted to wear them, Malone hadthought 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 skywith its customary purples and oranges by the time the little caravanarrived at the Desert Edge Sanitarium, a square white building severalmiles out of Las Vegas. Malone, in the first car, wondered briefly aboutthe kind of patients they catered to? People driven mad by vingt-et-unor poker-dice? Neurotic chorus ponies? Gambling czars with delusions ofnon-persecution?

Sitting in the front seat next to Boyd, he watched the unhappy SanFrancisco agent manipulating the wheel. In the back seat, QueenElizabeth Thompson and Lady Barbara, the nurse, were located, and HerMajesty was chattering away like a magpie. 

Malone eyed the rear-view mirror to get a look at the car following themand the two local FBI agents in it. They were, he thought, unbelievablylucky. 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 wassaying, "I shall confer personages on all of you. Right now, the best Ican do is to knight you all, and of course that's hardly enough. But Ithink I shall make Sir Kenneth the Duke of Columbia. "

Sir Kenneth, Malone realized, was himself. He wondered how he'd likebeing 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 properlyrespectful. 

"What would you like to be Duke of?" she said. 

"Oh, " Boyd said after a second's thought, "anything that pleases YourMajesty. " But, apparently, his thoughts gave him away. 

"You're from upstate New York?" the Queen said. "How very nice. Then youmust be made the Duke of Poughkeepsie. "

"Thank you, Your Majesty, " Boyd said. Malone thought he detected a noteof pride in the man's voice, and shot a glance at Boyd, but the agentwas 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 fellfrom his cap kept tickling his neck, and he brushed at it withoutsuccess. 

All four of the inhabitants of the car were dressed in late SixteenthCentury costumes, complete with ruffs and velvet and lace filigree. HerMajesty and Lady Barbara were wearing the full skirts and smallskullcaps of the era--and on Barbara, Malone thought privately, thelow-cut gowns didn't look at all disappointing--and Sir Thomas andMalone--Sir Kenneth, he thought sourly--were clad in doublet, hose andlong coats with fur trim and slashed sleeves. And all of them wereloaded down, weighted down, staggeringly, with gems. 

Naturally, the gems were fake. But then, Malone thought, the Queen wasmad. It all balanced out in the end. 

As they approached the sanitarium, Malone breathed a thankful prayerthat he'd called up to tell the head physician how they'd all bedressed. 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 thesteps of the building. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man withalmost no hair and very deep-sunken eyes. He had the kind of face that agushing female would probably describe, Malone thought, as "craggy, " butit didn't look in the least attractive to Malone. Instead, it lookedtough and forbidding. 

He didn't turn a hair as the magnificently robed Boyd slid from thefront seat, opened the rear door, doffed his plumed hat, and in one lowsweep made a great bow. "We are here, Your Majesty, " Boyd said. 

Her Majesty got out, clutching at her voluminous skirts in a worriedmanner, to keep from catching them on the door jamb. "You know, SirThomas, " she said when she was standing free of the car, "I think wemust be related. "

"Ah?" Boyd said worriedly. 

"I'm certain of it, in fact, " Her Majesty went on. "You look justexactly like my poor father. Just exactly. I dare say you come from oneof the sinister branches of the family. Perhaps you are a half-brotherof mine--removed, of course. "

Malone grinned, and tried to hide the expression. Boyd was lookingpuzzled, then distantly angered. Nobody had ever called him illegitimatein just that way before. 

But Her Majesty was absolutely right, Malone thought. The agent hadalways 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 HenryVIII. 

 * * * * *

Malone went up the steps to where Dr. Dowson was standing. 

"I'm Malone, " he said, checking a tendency to bow. "I called earliertoday. Is this William Logan of yours ready to go? We can take him backwith 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 agentsbegan emptying itself over the hospital grounds. 

The entire procession filed into the hospital office, the two localagents bringing up the rear. Since they were not a part of Her Majesty'spersonal retinue, they had not been required to wear court costumes. Ina way, Malone was beginning to feel sorry for them. He himself cut anice figure in the outfit, he thought--rather like Errol Flynn in theold black-and-white print of "The Prince and the Pauper. "

But there was no denying that the procession looked strange. File clerksand receptionists stopped their work to gape at the four bedizenedwalkers and their plainly dressed satellites. Malone needed notelepathic talent to tell what they were thinking. 

"A whole roundup of nuts, " they were thinking. "And those two fellows inthe back must be bringing them in--along with Dr. Dowson. "

Malone straightened his spine. Really, he didn't see why Elizabethancostumes had ever gone out of style. Elizabeth was back, wasn'tshe--either Elizabeth II, on the throne, or Elizabeth I, right behindhim. 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, butlet me tell you--"

"It wasn't like that at all, " Boyd said. 

"And, " Dr. Dowson continued in a somewhat louder voice, "wanting to takeMr. Logan away from us. Mr. Logan is a very sick man, Mr. Malone. Heshould be properly cared for. "

"I promise we'll take good care of him. " Malone said earnestly. TheElizabethan clothes were fine outdoors, but in a heated room one had atendency to sweat. 

"I take leave to doubt that, " Dr. Dowson said, eying their costumespointedly. 

"Miss Wilson here, " Malone volunteered, "is a trained psychiatricnurse. "

Barbara, in her gown, stepped forward. "Dr. Dowson, " she said, "let meassure 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 careof 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 FBIhave in an insane man?"

"That's none of your business, " Malone said. He reached inside hisfur-trimmed robe and, again suppressing a tendency to bow deeply, withdrew an impressive-looking legal document. "This, " he said, "is acourt order, instructing you to hand over to us the person of oneWilliam Logan, herein identified and described. " He waved it at thedoctor. "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. Thenhe looked up again at Malone. "I assume that I have some discretion inthis 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 himfor 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 thiswork to another group of therapists. It might set his illnessback--cause, as it were, a relapse. All our work could easily benullified. "

"Please, doctor, " Barbara Wilson began. 

"I'm afraid the court order's got to stand, " Malone said. Privately, hefelt sorry for Dr. Dowson, who was, obviously enough, a conscientiousman 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 yourdata to the government psychiatrists--and, naturally, any concern forthe patient's welfare will be our concern also. The FBI isn't anxiousfor its workers to get the reputation of careless men. " He paused, wondering what other bone he could throw the man. "I have no doubt thatthe St. Elizabeths men will be happy to accept your co-operation, " hesaid at last. "But, I'm afraid that our duty is clear. William Logangoes with us. "

Dr. Dowson looked at them sourly. "Does he have to get dressed up like amasquerade, too?" Before Malone could answer, the psychiatrist added:"Anyhow, I don't even know you're FBI men. After all, why should Icomply with orders from a group of men, dressed insanely, whom I don'teven know?"

Malone didn't say anything. He just got up and walked to a phone on asmall table, near the wall. Next to it was a door, and Malone wondereduncomfortably what was behind it. Maybe Dr. Dowson had a small arsenalthere, to protect his patients and prevent people from pirating them. 

He looked back at the set and dialed Burris' private number inWashington. When the director's face appeared on the screen, Malonesaid: "Mr. Burris, will you please identify me to Dr. Dowson?" He lookedover at Dowson. "You recognize Mr. Andrew J. Burris, I suppose?" hesaid. 

Dowson nodded. His grim face showed a faint shock. He walked to thephone, and Malone stepped back to let him talk with Burris. 

"My name is Dowson, " he said. "I'm psychiatric director here at DesertEdge Sanitarium. And your men--"

"My men have orders to take a William Logan from your care, " Burrissaid. 

"That's right, " Dowson said. "But--"

While they were talking, Queen Elizabeth I sidled quietly up to Maloneand tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Sir Kenneth, " she whispered in the faintest of voices, "I know whereyour telepathic spy is. And I know _who_ he is. "

"Who?" Malone said. "What? Why? Where?" He blinked and whirled. Itcouldn't be true. They couldn't solve the case so easily. 

But the Queen's face was full of a majestic assurance. "He's rightthere, " she said, and she pointed. 

Malone followed her finger. 

It was aimed directly at the glowing image of Andrew J. Burris, Directorof 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 lookedagain 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 theFBI, " 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 atelepathic spy?"

"Oh, dear me, " Her Majesty said, obviously aghast. "My goodnessgracious. Is that Mr. Burris on the screen?"

"It is, " Malone assured her. A look out of the corner of his eye toldhim that neither Burris, in Washington, nor Dowson or any others in theroom, had heard any of the conversation. Malone lowered his whisper somemore, 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 doubtthe word of your sovereign?"

"Not exactly, " Malone said. Truthfully, he wasn't at all sure. Not atall. But why tell that to the Queen?

"Shame on you, " she said. "You shouldn't even think such things. Afterall, I am the Queen, aren't I?" But there was a sweet, gentle smile onher 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 delayas 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 Maloneknew exactly what king. "Bring him out. "

Dr. Dowson heaved a great sigh. "Very well, " he said heavily. "But Iwant it known that I resent this high-handed treatment, and I shallwrite a letter complaining of it. " He pressed a button on an instrumentpanel 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 thingsto 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 werewrapped against his chest, while the jacket's extra-long sleeves weretied behind his back. He walked where the attendants led him, but hiseyes weren't looking at anything in the room. They stared at somethingfar away and invisible, an impalpable shifting nothingness somewhere inthe 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 ElizabethThompson was one thing--and she was almost funny, and likable, afterall. But William Logan was something else, and something that sent awave of cold shivering into the room. 

What made it worse was that Logan wasn't a man, but a boy, barelynineteen. Malone had known that, of course--but seeing it was somethingdifferent. The lanky, awkward figure wrapped in a hospital strait jacketwas horrible, and the smooth, unconcerned face was, somehow, worse. There was no threat in that face, no terror or anger or fear. It wasmerely--a blank. 

It was not a human face. Its complete lack of emotion or expressioncould have belonged to a sleeping child of ten--or to a member of adifferent 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. Butthe air in the room seemed to have become much colder. 

The attendants stood on either side of him, waiting. For one long secondno one moved, and then Dr. Dowson reached into his desk drawer andproduced 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 myearnest pleas--"

"I'm sorry, " Malone said. After all, he _needed_ Logan, didn't he? Aftera look at the boy, he wasn't sure any more--but the Queen had said shewanted 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 specialabout them; they were merely standard release forms, absolving the staffand management of Desert Edge Sanitarium from every conceivableresponsibility under any conceivable circumstances, as far as WilliamLogan was concerned. Dr. Dowson gave Malone a look that said: "Verywell, Mr. Malone; I will play Pilate and wash my hands of thematter--but you needn't think I like it. " It was a lot for one look tosay, but Dr. Dowson's dark and sunken eyes got the message across withno loss in transmission. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be morecoming--a much less printable message was apparently on the way throughthose 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 yourco-operation, Dr. Dowson, " he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of atraitor. 

"Not at all, " Dowson said bitterly. "Mr. Logan is now in your custody. Imust trust you to take good care of him. "

"The best care we can, " Malone said. It didn't seem sufficient. Headded: "The best possible care, doctor, " and tried to look dependableand trustworthy, like a Boy Scout. He was aware that the effort failedmiserably. 

At his signal, the two plainclothes FBI men took over from theattendants. They marched Logan out to their car, and Malone led theprocession back to Boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted--inorder--of Sir Kenneth Malone, prospective Duke of Columbia, QueenElizabeth I, Lady Barbara, prospective Duchess of an unspecified county, and Sir Thomas Boyd, prospective Duke of Poughkeepsie. Malone hummed alittle of "Pomp and Circumstance" as they walked; somehow, he thought itwas called for. 

They piled into the car, Boyd at the wheel with Malone next to him, andthe two ladies in back, with Queen Elizabeth sitting directly behind SirThomas. 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. Hesaid, 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, muststick together. That's the reason I got poor little Willie out of thatsanitarium of his, you know--and, of course, the others will be joiningus. "

"Don't you think it's time for your nap, dear?" Lady Barbara put insuddenly. 

"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 yoursovereign. Do try to have a little respect. Why, I remember whenShakespeare 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. Inthe hospital, you know, we had a little joke--the patients for InsulinShock Therapy used to say: 'If we don't stick together, we'll all bestuck separately. ' Do you see, Sir Thomas?"

"But, " Sir Kenneth Malone said, trying desperately to return to thepoint. "_Six?_" He had counted them up in his mind. Burris had mentionedone found in St. Elizabeths, and two more picked up later. With QueenElizabeth, and now William Logan, that made five. 

Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reasonwhy 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 FBImen found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to YuccaFlats 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 thatnap--" 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 daythat I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told youI don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen--nomatter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn tounderstand 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 youspeak--and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I knowwhat you're thinking. "

Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath . .. This Barry Miles. Didthey find him--"

"In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, SirKenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths wentinsane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, andbecause no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed youcould see?"

"Strange, " Malone admitted. 

"There, " Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane--it's sortof an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane. "

"Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps theywould 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 ofthe car more tightly. 

And Malone thought to himself: _That's right. There's QueenElizabeth--who says she isn't crazy. _

And then he thought of one more sane telepath. But the knowledge did notmake 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, butshe's in a hospital in Honolulu, and your men won't find her untiltomorrow. "

[Illustration: Sir Thomas Boyd . .. Looking majestic. ]

Boyd turned. "Do you mean you can foretell the future, too?" he asked ina strained voice. 

Lady Barbara screamed: "Keep your eyes on the wheel and your hands onthe road!"

"What?" Boyd said. 

There was a terrific blast of noise, and a truck went by in the oppositedirection. The driver, a big, ugly man with no hair on his head, leanedout to curse at the quartet, but his mouth remained open. He stared atthe 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 themercy of God that we didn't hit it. Barbara's right. Keep your eyes onthe 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 thequestion, I'll answer you. "

"What question?" Malone said, thoroughly baffled. 

"Sir Thomas asked me if I could foretell the future, " the Queen saidequably. "Of course I can't. That's silly. Just because I'm immortal andI'm a telepath, don't go hog-wild. "

"Then how did you know the FBI agents were going to find the girl inHonolulu tomorrow?" Boyd said. 

"Because, " the Queen said, "they're thinking about looking in thehospital 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 theseother telepaths before?" he said. "You could have saved us a lot ofwork. "

"Oh, heavens to Betsy, Sir Kenneth, " Her Majesty exclaimed. "How couldI? 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 theyjust wouldn't be safe without the proper precautions. "

"Perhaps you ought to go back to the hospital, too, " Barbara said, andadded: "Your Majesty, " just in time. 

"But if I did, dear, " Her Majesty said, "you'd lose your chance tobecome a Duchess, and that wouldn't be at all nice. Besides, I'm havingso much _fun_!" She trilled a laugh again. "Riding around like this isjust 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, andI'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 wholenight 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 hewas always feeling confused lately. 

"Don't be silly, Sir Kenneth, " Her Majesty said. "There are times andtimes. "

"Sure, " Malone said at random. _And time and a half_, he thought. _Possibly for overtime. _ "What is Your Majesty thinking of?" he askedwith 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, YourMajesty, " she said. 

"And why not, pray?" Her Majesty said. "No. I can see what you'rethinking. 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 youthat 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 slightlift of her regal eyebrow. 

Malone had been thinking about something else. When he was sure he had afirm grip on himself he turned. "Your Majesty, tell me something, " hesaid. "You can read my mind, right?"

"Well, of course, Sir Kenneth, " Her Majesty said. "I thought I'd provedthat to you. And, as for what you're about to ask--"

"No, " Malone said. "Please. Let me ask the questions before you answerthem. It's less confusing that way. I'll cheerfully admit that itshouldn't be--but it is. Please?"

"Certainly, Sir Kenneth, if you wish, " the Queen said. She folded herhands in her lap and waited quietly. 

 * * * * *

"O. K. , " Malone said. "Now, if you can read my mind, then you must knowthat 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 Ido 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_ asif we believe you, when you know we don't?"

"Because that's the way people do act, " the Queen said calmly. "Very fewpeople 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 maybe, we must learn to face the truth. That's the path of sanity. " LadyBarbara made a strangled noise but Her Majesty continued, unruffled. "Nearly everybody suffers from the silly delusion that he's possiblyequal to, but very probably superior to, everybody else . .. Mygoodness, 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, "aredone for social reasons. For instance, Sir Kenneth: you don't realizefully how you feel about Mr. Burris. "

"He's a nice guy, " Malone said. "I work for him. He's a good Director ofthe FBI. "

"Of course, " the Queen said. "But you believe you could do the job justas 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 anysmarter or better than you are--but you treat him as if you did. All Iam 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 ignoringLady Barbara. Perhaps, Malone thought, she was still angry over the napaffair. "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 hellaround me, but I'm driving. "

A red light appeared ahead. Boyd jammed on the brakes with somewhat morethan 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 forLady 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. Thatwas 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 patat her white hair under the Elizabethan skullcap. "I think I should liketo go to the Palace, " she said. "After all, isn't that where a Queenshould 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, pleaseexplain 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 amatter of fact, it was one of the biggest gambling houses along the LasVegas strip, a veritable chaos of wheels, cards, dice, chips and othersuch devices. Malone explained all this to the others, wonderingmeanwhile 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 carstarted up again with a roar and Malone and the others were thrownaround again, this time toward the back. There was a chorus of groansand 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 . .. YourMajesty?"

The Queen nodded regally at her. "Sir Kenneth was wondering why I wishedto go to the Golden Palace, " she said. "And my reply is this: it is noneof your business why I want to go there. After all, is my word law, orisn't it?"

There didn't seem to be a good enough answer to that, Malone thoughtsadly. He kept quiet and was relieved to note that the others did thesame. However, after a second he thought of something else. 

"Your Majesty, " he began carefully, "we've got to go to Yucca Flatstomorrow. Remember?"

"Certainly, " the Queen said. "My memory is quite good, thank you. Butthat is tomorrow morning. We have the rest of the night left. It's onlya 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 thesun will go out and all life on earth will end. Won't that be nice andpeaceful?"

"I'm looking forward to it, " Boyd said. 

"I'm not, " Barbara said. "But I've got to get some sleep tonight, if I'mgoing to be any good at all tomorrow. "

_You're pretty good right now_, Malone thought, but he didn't say aword. 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'snothing vital to do, we could--"

"No, " the Queen said. "We couldn't. Really, Lady Barbara, how often willI have to remind you of the duties you owe your sovereign--not the leastof 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 agood friend to poor Will. Why, did you ever hear the story of how heactually paid Will's rent in London once upon a time? That was whileWill 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. "IfI might remind Your Majesty of the subject, " he added tentatively, "Ishould like to say--"

"Remind me of the subject!" the Queen said, obviously delighted. "What alovely pun! And how much better because purely unconscious! My, my, SirKenneth, I never suspected you of a pointed sense of humor--could you bea descendant of Sir Richard Greene, I wonder?"

"I doubt it, " Malone said. "My ancestors were all poor but Irish. " Hepaused. "Or, if you prefer, Irish but poor. " Another pause, and then headded: "If that means anything at all. Which I doubt. "

"In any case, " the Queen said, her eyes twinkling, "you were about toenter 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, SirKenneth, I shall not only rescind your knighthood and--when I regain myrightful kingdom--deny you your dukedom, but I shall refuse toco-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 hedidn't follow through on his assigned job. 

Even if he wasn't as good as Burris thought he was, he really likedbeing 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 shehad seen just about everything there was to be seen. And those that werenew felt an obligation to _look_ as if they'd seen everything. 

Therefore, when the entourage of Queen Elizabeth I strolled into themain salon, not a single eye was batted. Not a single gasp was heard. 

Nevertheless, the staff kept a discreet eye on the crew. Drunks, richmen or Arabian millionaires were all familiar. But a group out of theSixteenth Century was something else again. 

Malone almost strutted, conscious of the sidelong glances the group wasdrawing. But it was obvious that Sir Thomas was the major attraction. Even if you could accept the idea of people in strange costumes, thesight of a living, breathing absolute duplicate of King Henry VIII was alittle too much to take. It has been reported that two ladies namedJane, and one named Catherine, came down with sudden headaches and leftthe salon within five minutes of the group's arrival. 

Malone felt he knew, however, why he wasn't drawing his full share ofattention. 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 theweight of the stuff, it was going to be a wrench to go back tosingle-breasted suits and plain white shirts. But he did feel that heshould 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. Malonepictured himself saying: "Take that, varlet. " Was varlet what you calledthem? 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 couldimagine himself at the Mermaid Tavern, hob-nobbing with Shakespeare andall 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 hewere about to fling purses of gold to the citizenry. As a matter offact, 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, LadyBarbara 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 wereeither excited enough, drunk enough, or both to see nothing in the leastincongruous about a Royal Family of the Tudors invading the GoldenPalace. Very few of them, as a matter of fact, seemed to notice thegroup. 

They were roulette players. They noticed nothing but the table and thewheel. Malone wondered what they were thinking about, decided to askQueen Elizabeth, and then decided against it. He felt it would make himnervous 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 GoldenPalace. In the center of the strip, inside the city limits of Las Vegasitself, the five thousand would have lasted much longer--but Her Majestywanted the Palace, and the Palace it was. 

Malone began to smile. Since he couldn't avoid the evening, he wasdetermined to enjoy it. It was sort of fun, in its way, indulging asweet harmless old lady. And there was nothing they could do until thenext morning, anyhow. 

His indulgent smile faded very suddenly. 

Her Majesty plunked the entire handful of chips--_five thousanddollars!_ Malone thought dazedly--onto the table. "Five thousand, " shesaid in clear, cool measured tones, "on Number One. "

The croupier blinked only slightly. He bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty, " hesaid. 

Malone was briefly thankful, in the midst of his black horror, that hehad called the management and told them that the Queen's plays werebacked by the United States Government. Her Majesty was going to getunlimited credit--and a good deal of awed and somewhat puzzled respect. 

Malone watched the spin begin with mixed feelings. There was fivethousand dollars riding on the little ball. But, after all, Her Majestywas a telepath. Did that mean anything?

He hadn't decided by the time the wheel stopped, and by then he didn'thave 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. Maloneneeded 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, andblank-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 orless would make any real difference. There would be questions asked incommittees about it. He tried to imagine himself explaining the eveningto a group of congressmen. "Well, you see, gentlemen, there was thisroulette wheel--"

He gave it up. 

Then he wondered how much hotter the water was going to get, and hestopped thinking altogether in self-defense. 

 * * * * *

In the next room, there were scattered tables. At one, a poker game wasin full swing. Only five were playing; one, by his white-tie-and-tailsuniform, was easily recognizable as a house dealer. The other four wereall men, one of them in full cowboy regalia. The Tudors descended uponthem with great suddenness, and the house dealer looked up and almostlost 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 atelepath, " she said, "how would _you_ play poker?"

Malone thought about that for a minute, and then turned to look forBoyd. But Sir Thomas didn't even have to be given instructions. "Anotherfive 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. Threeminutes 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, butlooked up at them with a puzzled stare. 

"You know, " the Queen said, with an obvious attempt to put the man athis 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 saidcautiously. 

The Queen shook her head. "They would rather watch, I'm sure. "

For once Malone blessed the woman's telepathic talent. He, Boyd andBarbara Wilson formed a kind of Guard of Honor around the chair whichHer Majesty occupied. Boyd handed over the new pile of chips, and wasfavored 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 thecowboy 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 anyaccent, ma'am, " he said at last. 

"Certainly not, " the Queen said. "I've lost that; I've been over here agreat many years. "

Malone hoped fervently that Her Majesty wouldn't mention just how manyyears. He didn't think he could stand it, and he was almost grateful forthe 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'sGod. He passed the pasteboards around the table with the air of one whowill 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 pilebefore her and sent it spinning to the middle of the table. 

The dealer opened his mouth, but said nothing. Malone, meanwhile, waspeering 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 openedhis eyes again. The Queen was pushing two ten-dollar chips toward thecenter 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 fortwenty stood pat. Malone shuddered invisibly. That, he figured, meant atleast a straight. And Queen Elizabeth Thompson was going in against astraight or better with a pair of nines, Jack high. 

For the first time, it was borne in on Malone that being a telepath didnot necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. Even if you knewwhat every other person at the table held, you could still make a wholelot 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, andnot concentrating on him at all. That was a relief. He felt, for thefirst 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 lefther with the nine of spades and the nine of hearts, and the Jack ofdiamonds. 

These were joined, in a matter of seconds, by two bright new cards: thesix 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 playersheld, she knew she couldn't beat them after the draw. But she did liketo take long chances, Malone thought miserably. Imagine trying to fill afull house on one pair!

 * * * * *

Slowly, as the minutes passed, the pile of chips before Her Majestydwindled. Once Malone saw her win with two pair against a reckless mantrying to fill a straight on the other side of the table. But whateverwas 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 hisvisage for a series of particularly obvious signals. 

An hour went by. Barbara left to find a ladies' lounge where she couldsit down and try to relax. Fascinated in a horrible sort of way, bothMalone and Boyd stood, rooted to the spot, while hand after hand wentby and the ten thousand dollars dwindled to half that, to a quarter, andeven less--

Her Majesty, it seemed, was a mighty poor poker player. 

The ante had been raised by this time. Her Majesty was losing onehundred dollars a hand, even before the betting began. But she showednot the slightest indication to stop. 

"We've got to get up in the morning, " Malone announced to no one inparticular, when he thought he couldn't possibly stand another half hourof 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. Hehad been winning steadily ever since Her Majesty sat down, and Malonethought that the man should, by this time, be awfully grateful to theUnited States Government. Somehow, he doubted that this gratitudeexisted. 

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 andten of clubs--and the seven of spades. 

_Oh, no_, he thought. _She couldn't possibly be thinking of filling aflush. _

He knew perfectly well that she was. 

The second man said: "And raise two hundred. "

The Queen equably tossed--counting, Malone thought, the ante--fivehundred into the pot. 

The cowboy muttered to himself for a second, and finally shoved in hismoney. 

"I think I'll raise it another five hundred, " the Queen said calmly. 

Malone wanted to die of shock. Unfortunately, he remained alive andwatching. He was the last man, after some debate internal, to shove atotal 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 weretrying to fill a straight or a flush, maybe he wouldn't make it. Andmaybe something final would happen to all the other players. But thatwas the only way he could see for Her Majesty to win. 

The card was dealt. The second man stood pat and Malone's green tingebecame obvious to the veriest dunce. The cowboy, on Her Majesty's right, asked for a card, received it and sat back without a trace ofexpression. 

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 otherplayers--or possibly from someone at the hospital itself, years ago. 

He wished she'd picked up something less dangerous instead, like a loveof 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 Malonehad given her credit for at any time during the game. She let the othercard 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, thathis 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 themall. He tried to imagine explaining the loss of twenty thousand dollarsto Burris and some congressmen, and after that he watched the floornarrowly, 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 tookthe new chips Boyd had brought her and shoved them into the center ofthe table with a fine, careless gesture of her hand. She smiled gaily ateverybody. "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 agreat hand, and though raising had gone on throughout the hand, eachmust now be afraid of going the least little bit too far and scaring theothers out. 

"Mr. Congressman, " Malone muttered, "there's this game called poker. Youplay 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 thehand a year or so before. 

"Why, sure, " the player said, and laid down a pair of aces, a pair ofthrees--and a four. One of the threes, and the four, were clubs. Thatreduced the already improbable chances of the Queen's coming up with aflush. 

"Sorry, " said the second man, and laid down a straight with a singlegesture. 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 thedealer, the fifth man laid down another straight--this one ten-high. Thenine 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 Kingof hearts. The Jack of diamonds. The Jack of spades. And--the Jack ofhearts. 

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 forthe 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 royalflush. "

"Naturally, " the Queen said. "What else?"

Her Majesty calmly scooped up the tremendous pile of chips. The cowboy'shands 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 toMalone, who took them in nerveless fingers. "Sir Kenneth, " she said, "Ihereby appoint you temporary Chancellor of the Exchequer--at least untilParliament convenes. "

There was, Malone thought, at least thirty-five thousand dollars in thepile. He could think of nothing to say. 

So, instead of using up words, he went and cashed in the chips. Foronce, he realized, the Government had made money on an investment. Itwas probably the first time since 1775. 

Malone thought vaguely that the Government ought to make moreinvestments like the one he was cashing in. If it did, the National Debtcould be wiped out in a matter of days. 

He brought the money back. Boyd and the Queen were waiting for him, butBarbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "She's on the way out, " theQueen informed him, and, sure enough, in a minute they saw the figureapproaching them. Malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, she smiledback. They began the long march to the exit of the club, slowly andregally, though not by choice. 

The crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go. Malone never found out, thenor later, how the news of Her Majesty's winnings had gone through theplace so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. The Queen was therecipient of several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and, when theyreached the front door at last, the doorman said in a most respectfultone: "Good evening, Your Majesty. "

The Queen positively beamed at him. So, to his own great surprise, didSir Kenneth Malone. 

Outside, it was about four in the morning. They climbed into the car andheaded back toward the hotel. 

 * * * * *

Malone was the first to speak. "How did you know that was a Jack ofclubs?" 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. "Whywould 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. Hisname is Elliott, by the way--Bernard L. Elliott. And he comes fromWeehawken. But he pretends to be a Westerner so nobody will besuspicious of him. He and the dealer are in cahoots . .. Isn't that theword?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, " Boyd said. "That's the word. " His tone was awed andrespectful, and the little old lady gave a nod and became QueenElizabeth I once more. 

"Well, " she said, "the dealer and Mr. Elliott were in cahoots, and thedealer 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 knewwhat 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 magnificentunderstatement. 

"Good, " Barbara said, and lost interest at once. 

 * * * * *

Malone had seen the lights of a car in the rear-view mirror a fewminutes before. When he looked now, the lights were still there--but thefact just didn't register until, a couple of blocks later, the car beganto pull around them on the left. It was a Buick, while Boyd's was a newLincoln, but the edge wasn't too apparent yet. 

Malone spotted the gun barrel protruding from the Buick and yelled justbefore the first shot went off. 

Boyd, at the wheel, didn't even bother to look. His reflexes took overand he slammed his foot down on the brake. The specially-built FBILincoln slowed down instantly. The shotgun blast splattered the glass ofthe 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 leftarmpit, and he even had time to be grateful, for once, that it wasn't asmallsword. The women were in the back seat, frozen, and he yelled:"Duck!" and felt, rather than saw, both of them sink down onto the floorof the car. 

The Buick had slowed down, too, and the gun barrel was swiveling backfor a second shot. Malone felt naked and unprotected. The Buick and theLincoln were even on the road now. 

Malone had his revolver out. He fired the first shot without evenrealizing fully that he'd done so, and he heard a piercing scream fromBarbara in the back seat. He had no time to look back. 

A . 44 Magnum is not, by any means, a small gun. As hand gunsgo--revolvers and automatics--it is about as large as a gun can get tobe. 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 itwere not there, and slammed its way through an even more unprotectedobstacle, the frontal bones of the triggerman's skull. The second slugfrom Malone's gun missed the hole the first slug had made by somethingless than an inch. 

The big, apelike thug who was holding the shotgun had a chance to pullthe trigger once more, but he wasn't aiming very well. The blast merelyscored the paint off the top of the Lincoln. 

The rear window of the Buick was open, and Malone caught sight ofanother glint of blued steel from the corner of his eye. There was notime to shift aim--not with bullets flying like swallows on the way toCapistrano. Malone thought faster than he had ever imagined himselfcapable of doing, and decided to aim for the driver. 

Evidently the man in the rear seat of the Buick had had the sameinspiration. Malone blasted two more high-velocity lead slugs at thedriver of the big Buick, and at the same time the man in the Buick'srear seat fired at Boyd. 

But Boyd had shifted tactics. He'd hit the brakes. Now he came down hardon the accelerator instead. 

 * * * * *

The chorus of shrieks from the Lincoln's back seat increased slightly involume. Barbara, Malone knew, wasn't badly hurt; she hadn't even stoppedfor breath since the first shot had been fired. Anybody who could screamlike that, he told himself, had to be healthy. 

As the Lincoln leaped ahead, Malone pulled the trigger of his . 44 twicemore. The heavy, high-speed chunks of streamlined copper-coated leadleaped from the muzzle of the gun and slammed into the driver of theBuick 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 headwith a _whizz_, missing both him and Boyd by a margin too narrow tothink about. 

But those were the last shots. The only difference between the FBI andthe Enemy seemed to be determination and practice. 

The Buick spun into a flat sideskid, swiveled on its wheels and slammedinto the ditch at the side of the road, turning over and over, making ahorrible noise, as it broke up. 

Boyd slowed the car again, just as there was a sudden blast of fire. TheBuick had burst into flame and was spitting heat and smoke and fire inall directions. Malone sent one more bullet after it in a last flurry ofaction--saving his last one for possible later emergencies. 

Boyd jammed on the brakes and the Lincoln came to a screaming halt. Insilence he and Malone watched the burning Buick roll over and over intothe desert beyond the shoulder. 

"My God, " Boyd said. "My ears!"

Malone understood at once. The blast from his own still-smoking . 44 hadroared past Boyd's head during the gun battle. No wonder the man's earshurt. It was a wonder he wasn't altogether deaf. 

But Boyd shook off the pain and brought out his own . 44 as he steppedout 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 inconcentration. A look of pain crossed her face, and then, as herexpression smoothed again, she said: "The traitors are dead. All exceptone, and he's--" She paused. "He's dying, " she finished. "He can't hurtyou. "

There was no need for further battle. Malone reholstered his . 44 andturned to Boyd. "Tom, call the State Police, " he said. "Get 'em downhere fast. "

He waited while Boyd climbed back under the wheel and began punchingbuttons 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, inthe front seat, had the kind of holes in them people talked aboutthrowing elephants through. Head and chest had been hit. 

Malone couldn't get close enough to the fiercely blazing automobile tomake even a try for the men in the back seat. 

 * * * * *

He was sitting quietly on the edge of the rear seat when the NevadaHighway Patrol cars drove up next to them. Barbara Wilson had stoppedscreaming, but she was still sobbing on Malone's shoulder. "It's allright, " 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'llprotect 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 themen's heads, when you fired . .. It was--"

"Don't think about it, " Malone said. To him, the job had been anunpleasant 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 onme, " he said. "You'll be all right if you--"

The State Trooper walked up then, and looked at them. "Mr. Malone?" hesaid. He seemed to be taken slightly aback at the costuming. 

"That's right, " Malone said. He pulled out his ID card and the littlegolden badge. The State Patrolman looked at them, and looked back atMalone. 

"What's with the getup?" he said. 

"FBI, " Malone said, hoping his voice carried conviction. "Officialbusiness. "

"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 andstuff, " he said at last. "Maybe you've got a reason to dress up. Howwould 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'mLieutenant Adams, Mr. Malone. Suppose you tell me what happened?"

Carefully and concisely, Malone told him the story of the Buick that hadpulled up beside them, and what had happened afterward. 

Meanwhile, the other cops had been looking over the wreck. When Malonehad finished his story, Lieutenant Adams flipped his notebook shut andlooked over toward them. "I guess it's O. K. , sir, " he said. "As far asI'm concerned, it's justifiable homicide. Self-defense. Any reason whythey'd want to kill you?"

Malone thought about the Golden Palace. That might be a reason--but itmight not. And why burden an innocent State Patrolman with the facts ofFBI 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 ofthis. You'll be getting a call later. "

"Fine, " Malone said. "Trace those hoods, and any connections they mighthave 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 ifthe Governor wants to know where we are, or the State's Attorney, putthem 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, " Malonesaid with a polite smile. "O. K. ?"

"I was only asking, " Lieutenant Adams said. "Can't blame a man forasking, now, can you?"

Malone climbed into his front seat. "Call me later, " he said. The carstarted. "Back to the hotel, Sir Thomas, " Malone said, and the carroared off. 

VII

Yucca Flats, Malone thought, certainly deserved its name. It was aboutas flat as land could get, and it contained millions upon millions ofuseless 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 cactiwere 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'tstand 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 closedcars through the Nevada desert in the summertime, they might havestarted a cult of nudity, Malone felt. It was bad enough now, in whatwas supposed to be winter. 

The sun was certainly bright enough, for one thing. It glared throughthe cloudless sky and glanced with blinding force off the road. SirThomas Boyd squinted at it through the rather incongruous sunglasses hewas wearing, while Malone wondered idly if it was the sunglasses, or therest of the world, that was an anachronism. But Sir Thomas kept his eyesgrimly on the road as he gunned the powerful Lincoln toward the YuccaFlats Labs at eighty miles an hour. 

Malone twisted himself around and faced the women in the back seat. Pastthem, through the rear window of the Lincoln, he could see the secondcar. It followed them gamely, carrying the newest addition to SirKenneth Malone's Collection of Bats. 

"Bats?" Her Majesty said suddenly, but gently. "Shame on you, SirKenneth. These are poor, sick people. We must do our best to helpthem--not to think up silly names for them. For shame!"

"I suppose so, " Malone said wearily. He sighed and, for the fifth timethat day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty have any idea where our spy isnow?"

"Well, really, Sir Kenneth, " the Queen said with the slightest ofhesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy has certain laws, justlike everything else. After all, even a game has laws. Being telepathicdid not help me to play poker--I still had to learn the rules. Andtelepathy has rules, too. A telepath can easily confuse another telepathby using some of those rules. "

"Oh, fine, " Malone said. "Well, have you got into contact with his mindyet?"

"Oh, yes, " Her Majesty said happily. "And my goodness, he's certainlydigging 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 likeconcentration. "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. "Canyou 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 keepmoving around, I know that. But you have to remember that he doesn'twant 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 tohide 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 Iknow exactly where he is, I'll tell you. I promise. Cross my heart andhope 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 wasteany time telling me. Do it right away. We've _got_ to find that spy andisolate him somehow. "

"Please don't worry yourself, Sir Kenneth, " Her Majesty said. "YourQueen 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--forperhaps the ten-thousandth time--that there was no such thing aswondering privately any more. 

"That's quite right, Sir Kenneth, " the Queen said sweetly. "And it'sabout 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. "Prettysoon they'll come and take me away, but I don't mind at all. " He whippedthe car around a bend in the road savagely. "Pretty soon they'll put mewith the other sane people and let the bats inherit the world. But Idon't mind at all. "

"Sir Thomas!" Her Majesty said in shocked tones. 

"Please, " Boyd said with a deceptive calmness. "Just Mr. Boyd. Not evenLieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if you prefer, Tom. "

"Sir Thomas, " Her Majesty said, "I really can't understand thissudden--"

"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'lljust tell you to shut up, to keep driving--and to show some respect toHer 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 iscertainly 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. "Makingan--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 aboutthe 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, atleast partly, in love with you. "

Malone blinked. It was perfectly true--even if he hadn't quite known ithimself until now. Telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionallyhandy 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 thedesert that indicated the broad expanse of Yucca Flats Labs. Just thefact that it could be seen, he knew, didn't mean an awful lot. Malonehad been able to see it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn't lookas 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 alongthe restricted road, right up to the big gate that marked the entranceof the laboratories themselves. Once again, they were faced with thearmy of suspicious guards and security officers. 

This time, suspicion was somewhat heightened by the dress of thevisitors. Malone had to explain about six times that the costumes werepart 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 themwere not insane, not spies, and not jokesters out for a lark in thesunshine. 

Malone had expected all of that. He went through the rigmarole wearilybut without any sense of surprise. The one thing he hadn't beenexpecting was the man who was waiting for him on the other side of thegate. 

When he'd finished identifying everybody for the fifth or sixth time, hebegan to climb back into the car. A familiar voice stopped him cold. 

"Just a minute, Malone, " Andrew J. Burris said. He erupted from theguardhouse like an avenging angel, followed closely by a thin man, aboutfive feet ten inches in height, with brush-cut brown hair, roundhorn-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, walkingwith an odd bouncing step that must have been acquired, Malone thought, over years of treading on rubber eggs. "I don't know, " Burris said whenhe'd reached the door. "When I was in Washington, I seemed to know--butwhen I get out here in this desert, everything just goes haywire. " Herubbed 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 thefaintest trace of surprise. 

"Doesn't he, though?" Her Majesty said from the rear seat. "I've noticedthat 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 ontelevision, and over the video phone. You photograph badly, you know. "

"I do?" Burris said pleasantly. It was obvious that he was keepinghimself under very tight control. 

Malone felt remotely sorry for the man--but only remotely. Burris mightas well know, he thought, what they had all been going through the pastseveral days. 

Her Majesty was saying something about the honorable estate ofknighthood, and the Queen's List. Malone began paying attention when shecame to: ". .. And I hereby dub thee--" She stopped suddenly, turned andsaid: "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 onething for him to do. He pulled out his . 44, ejected the remainingcartridge in his palm--and reminded himself to reload the gun as soon ashe 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 thewindow of the car, and said in a fine, distinct voice: "Kneel, Andrew. "

Malone watched with wide, astonished eyes as Andrew J. Burris, Directorof the FBI, went to one knee in a low and solemn genuflection. QueenElizabeth Thompson nodded her satisfaction. 

She tapped Burris gently on each shoulder with the muzzle of the gun. "Iknight thee Sir Andrew, " she said. She cleared her throat. "My, thisdesert air is dry--Rise, Sir Andrew, and know that you are henceforthKnight 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 andhanded the gun back to Malone. He thumbed cartridges into the chambersof the cylinder and listened dumbly. 

"Your Majesty, " Burris said, "this is Dr. Harry Gamble, the head ofProject Isle. Dr. Gamble, this is Her Majesty the Queen; Lady BarbaraWilson, her . .. Uh . .. Her lady in waiting; Sir Kenneth Malone; and King. .. I mean Sir Thomas Boyd. " He gave the four a single bright impartialsmile. Then he tore his eyes away from the others, and bent his gaze onSir Kenneth Malone. "Come over here a minute, Malone, " he said, jerkinghis thumb over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you. "

 * * * * *

Malone climbed out of the car and went around to meet Burris. He feltjust 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. Buthe hadn't expected the man to show up at Yucca Flats. There didn't seemto be any reason for it. 

And when there isn't any reason, Malone told himself sagely, it's a badone. 

"What's the trouble, chief?" he asked. 

Burris sighed. "None so far, " he said quietly. "I got a report from theNevada State Patrol, and ran it through R&I. They identified the men youkilled, 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 thatwould kill their own grandmothers if the price were right--you knowthat. We can't trace them back any farther. "

Malone nodded. That was, he had to admit, bad news. But then, when hadhe last had any good news?

"We're nowhere near our telepathic spy, " Burris said. "We haven't comeany closer than we were when we started. Have you got anything? Anythingat all, no matter how small?"

"Not that I know of, sir, " Malone said. 

"What about the little old lady . .. What's her name? Thompson. Anythingfrom 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 givenher a full retinue in costume; we've let her play roulette and pokerwith Government money. Does she want to hold a mass execution? If shedoes, I can supply some congressmen, Malone. I'm sure it could bearranged. " He looked at the agent narrowly. "I might even be able tosupply an FBI man or two, " he added. 

Malone swallowed hard. "I'm trying the best I can, sir, " he said. "Whatabout the others?"

Burris looked even unhappier than usual. "Come along, " he said. "I'llshow you. "

When they got back to the car, Dr. Gamble was talking spiritedly withHer Majesty about Roger Bacon. "Before my time, of course, " the Queenwas saying, "but I'm sure he was a most interesting man. Now when dearold Marlowe wrote his 'Faust, ' he and I had several long discussionsabout such matters. Alchemy--"

Burris interrupted with: "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but we mustget on. Perhaps you'll be able to continue your . .. Ah . .. Audiencelater. " He turned to Boyd. "Sir Thomas, " he said with an effort, "drivedirectly to the Westinghouse buildings. Over that way. " He pointed. "Dr. Gamble will ride with you, and the rest of us will follow in the secondcar. Let's move. "

He stepped back as the project head got into the car, and watched itroar off. Then he and Malone went to the second car, another FBILincoln. Two agents were sitting in the back seat, with a still figurebetween them. 

With a shock, Malone recognized William Logan and the agents he'ddetailed to watch the telepath. Logan's face did not seem to havechanged expression since Malone had seen it last, and he wondered wildlyif 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'dcome up with something. Your telegram detailed the fight, of course, andthe rest of what's been happening--but I hoped there'd be somethingmore. "

"There isn't, " Malone was forced to admit. "All we can do is try topersuade 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 ofWestinghouse's psionics research area, Malone found himself wishing thatsomething would happen. Possibly, he thought, lightning might strike, oran earthquake swallow everything up. He was, suddenly, profoundly tiredof the entire affair. 

VIII

Four days later, he was more than tired. He was exhausted. The sixpsychopaths--including Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I--had been housed ina converted dormitory in the Westinghouse area, together with fourhighly nervous and even more highly trained and investigatedpsychiatrists from St. Elizabeths in Washington. The Convention of Nuts, as Malone called it privately, was in full swing. And it was every bitas strange as he'd thought it was going to be. Unfortunately, five ofthe six--Her Majesty being the only exception--were completely out ofcontact with the world. The psychiatrists referred to them in worriedtones as "unavailable for therapy, " and spent most of their timebrooding over possible ways of bringing them back into the real worldfor a while. 

Malone stayed away from the five who were completely psychotic. Theweird babblings of fifty-year-old Barry Miles disconcerted him. Theysounded like little Charlie O'Neill's strange semi-connected jabber, butWestinghouse's Dr. O'Connor said that it seemed to represent anotherphenomenon entirely. William Logan's blank face was a memory of horror, but the constant tinkling giggles of Ardith Parker, the studied andconcentrated way that Gordon Macklin wove meaningless patterns in theair with his waving fingers, and the rhythmless, melodyless humming thatseemed to be all there was to the personality of Robert Cassiday weresimply too much for Malone. Taken singly, each was frightening andremote; all together, they wove a picture of insanity that chilled himmore than he wanted to admit. 

When the seventh telepath was flown in from Honolulu, Malone didn't evenbother to see her. He let the psychiatrists take over directly, andsimply 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 HerMajesty had theorized--heavily frustrated by being the possessor of atalent which no one else recognized. Beyond that, the impact of otherminds was disturbing; there was a slight loss of identity which seemedto be a major factor in every case of telepathic insanity. But the Queenhad compensated for her frustrations in the easiest possible way; shehad simply traded her identity for another one, and had rationalized asingle, 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 withmore than a trace of admiration in his voice. "Complete and thoroughlyconsistent. She's just traded identities--and everything else shedoes--_everything_ else--stems logically out of her delusional premise. Beautiful. "

She might have been crazy, Malone realized. But she was a long way fromstupid. 

The project was in full swing. The only trouble was that they were nonearer finding the telepath than they had been three weeks before. Withfive completely blank human beings to work with, and the sixth QueenElizabeth (Malone heard privately that the last telepath, the girl fromHonolulu, was no better than the first five; she had apparentlyregressed into what one of the psychiatrists called a "non-identitychildhood syndrome. " Malone didn't know what it meant, but it soundedterrible. ) Malone could see why progress was their most difficultcommodity. 

Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of Project Isle, was losing poundage by thehour with worry. And, Malone reflected, he could ill afford it. 

Burris, Malone and Boyd had set themselves up in a temporary officewithin the Westinghouse area. The director had left his assistant incharge in Washington. Nothing, he said over and over again, was asimportant as the spy in Project Isle. 

Apparently Boyd had come to believe that, too. At any rate, though hewas 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 ofpessimism, you're going to be an exception to the beard rule. One morecrack 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 theworld?"

"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 leanface looked almost haggard. 

"Mr. Burris, " he said, extending his arms a trifle, "can't anything bedone?" Malone had seen Gamble speaking before, and had wondered if itwould be possible for the man to talk with his hands tied behind hisback. Apparently it wouldn't be. "We feel that we are approaching acritical stage in Project Isle, " the scientist said, enclosing one fistwithin the other hand. "If anything more gets out to the Soviets, wemight as well publish our findings"--a wide, outflung gesture of botharms--"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 wasnearly successful. "After all, " he went on, "we know a great deal morethan we did four days ago. Miss Thompson has assured us that the spy isright here, within the compound of Yucca Flats Labs. We've bottledeverything up in this compound, and I'm confident that no information isat present getting through to the Soviet Government. Miss Thompsonagrees 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. "Ofcourse. " He rubbed at the back of his neck. "But we can't keep everybodywho's here now locked up forever. Sooner or later we'll have to letthem"--his left hand described the gesture of a man tossing away a wadof paper--"go. " His hands fell to his sides. "We're lost, unless we canfind 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 mentalcondition. "

Boyd looked up. "Rome, " he said in an absent fashion, "wasn't built in adaze. "

Burris glared at him, but said nothing. Malone filled the conversationalhole with what he thought would be nice, and hopeful, and untrue. 

"We know he's someone on the reservation, so we'll catch himeventually, " he said. "And as long as his information isn't getting intoSoviet 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 havelunch with Her Majesty. Maybe she's dug up something more. "

"I hope so, " Dr. Gamble said, apparently successfully deflected. "I dohope 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 littleoffice closet. He shrugged into the fur-trimmed, slash-sleeved coat, adjusted the plumed hat to his satisfaction with great care, and gaveBurris and the others a small bow. "I go to an audience with HerMajesty, gentlemen, " he said in a grave, well-modulated voice. "I shallreturn anon. "

He went out the door and closed it carefully behind him. When he hadgone a few steps he allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh. 

 * * * * *

Then he went outside and across the dusty street to the barracks whereHer Majesty and the other telepaths were housed. No one paid anyattention to him, and he rather missed the stares he'd become used todrawing. 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 wasproperly dressed. Even the psychiatrists--whom she had, with a carefulsense of meiosis, appointed Physicians to the Royal House--had to wearthe stuff. 

Malone went over the whole case in his mind--for about the thousandthtime, he told himself bitterly. 

Who could the telepathic spy be? It was like looking for a needle in arolling stone, he thought. Or something. He did remember clearly that astitch in time saved nine, but he didn't know nine what, and suspectedit had nothing to do with his present problem. 

How about Dr. Harry Gamble, Malone thought. It seemed a little unlikelythat the head of Project Isle would be spying on his ownmen--particularly since he already had all the information. But, on theother 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, hehad had a suspicion that O'Connor had cooked the whole thing up to throwthe FBI off the trail and confuse everybody, and that he'd intendedmerely to have the FBI chase ghosts while the real spy did his workundetected. 

But what if O'Connor were the spy himself--a telepath? What if he wereso confident of his ability to throw the Queen off the track that he hadallowed the FBI to find all the other telepaths? There was anotherargument for that: he'd had to report the findings of his machine nomatter what it cost him; there were too many other men on his staff whoknew about it. 

O'Connor was a perfectly plausible spy, too. But he didn't seem verylikely. The head of a Government project is likely to be amuch-investigated man. Could any tie-up with Russia--even a psionicone--stand against that kind of investigation? Malone doubted it. 

Malone thought of the psychiatrists. There wasn't any evidence, that wasthe trouble. There wasn't any evidence either way. 

Then he wondered if Boyd had been thinking of him, Malone, as thepossible 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 himout in Dr. Dowson's office. And even though she'd changed her mind, howmuch faith could be placed in Her Majesty? After all, if she'd made amistake about Burris, she could just as easily have made a mistake aboutthe spy's being at Yucca Flats. In that case, Malone thought sadly, theywere right back where they'd started from. 

Behind their own goal line. 

One way or another, though, Her Majesty had made a mistake. She'dpointed 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 Burrishimself 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 flashof insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking at for so longfell together and formed one consistent picture. The pattern wascomplete. 

Malone blinked. 

In that second, he knew exactly who the spy was. 

A jeep honked raucously and swerved around him. The driver leaned out tocurse and remained to stare. Malone was already halfway back to theoffices. 

On the way, he stopped in at another small office, this one inhabited bythe two FBI men from Las Vegas. He gave a series of quick orders, andgot the satisfaction, as he left, of seeing one of the FBI men grabbingfor 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 Majestydoing now--running a diner?"

Malone ignored the bait. "Gentlemen, " he said solemnly, "Her Majesty hasasked that all of us attend her in audience. She has information of theutmost gravity to impart, and wishes an audience at once. "

Burris looked startled. "Has she--" he began, and stopped, leaving hismouth open and the rest of the sentence unfinished. 

Malone nodded gravely. "I believe, gentlemen, " he said, "that HerMajesty is about to reveal the identity of the spy who has beenbattening 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 toDr. O'Connor and told him to be at Her Majesty's court in tenminutes--and in full panoply. O'Connor, not unnaturally, balked a littleat first. But Malone talked fast and sounded as urgent as he felt. Atlast he got the psionicist's agreement. 

Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabethsand told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands ofneurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply. 

Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was assembled. Even Burrisand the others were ready to go. Beaming, he led them out. 

 * * * * *

Ten minutes later, there were nine men in Elizabethan costume standingoutside 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 upto his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. TheSt. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little likemoth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over witha somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the wholeproblem 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 justwhat I want to say, and I think I can get the information without toomuch trouble. "

One of the psychiatrists spoke up. "I trust you won't disturb thepatient, Mr. Malone, " he said. 

"Sir Kenneth, " Malone snapped. 

The psychiatrist looked both abashed and worried. "I'm sorry, " he saiddoubtfully. 

Malone nodded. "That's all right, " he said. "I'll try not to disturb HerMajesty unduly. "

The psychiatrists conferred. When they came out of the huddle one ofthem--Malone was never able to tell them apart--said: "Very well, we'lllet 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 plasticand synthetic fibers to look like something out of the SixteenthCentury. It was as garish, and as perfect, as a Hollywood movieset--which wasn't surprising, since two stage designers had been hiredaway from color-TV spectaculars to set it up. At the far end of theroom, past the rich hangings and the flaming chandeliers, was a greatthrone, and on it Her Majesty was seated. Lady Barbara reclined on thesteps at her feet. 

Malone saw the expression on Her Majesty's face. He wanted to talk toBarbara--but there wasn't time. Later, there might be. Now, he collectedhis mind and drove one thought at the Queen, one single powerfulthought:

_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 ofSir Kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained onMalone. "You may approach, my lords, " said the Queen. 

Sir Kenneth led the procession, with Sir Thomas and Sir Andrew closebehind him. O'Connor and Gamble came next, and bringing up the rear werethe four psychiatrists. They strode slowly along the red carpet thatstretched from the door to the foot of the throne. They came to a halt afew 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 offright. 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 beenbrought here?" He shot the question out quickly, and O'Connor was caughtoff-balance. 

"Well . .. Ah . .. We would like their co-operation in further researchwhich 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. Itseemed to say: _what's coming next?_

Malone simply gave him a nod, and a "Thank you, doctor, " and turned toBurris. He could feel Barbara's eyes on him, but he went on with hisprepared questions. "Chief, " he said, "what about you? After we nail ourspy, what happens . .. To Her Majesty, I mean? You don't intend to stopgiving 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 thepsychiatrists--"if the doctors think--"

There was another hurried consultation. The four psychiatrists came outof it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatmentswhich had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to bediscontinued, although of course there was always the chance that--

"Thank you, gentlemen, " Malone said smoothly. He could see that theywere nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult it was for apsychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. But they'd alreadyrealized that it didn't make any difference; their thoughts were an openbook, 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 thedoctors here--or all of them, for that matter--one more question. " Hewhirled and faced them. "I'm assuming that not one of these persons islegally responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"

Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning to remind Maloneof a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms. 

Finally one of them said: "You are correct. According to the lateststatutes, all of these persons are legally insane--including HerMajesty. " He paused and gulped. "I except the FBI, of course--andourselves. " 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 hisgroup with some confusion. 

Malone was looking straight at the throne. Her Majesty's countenance wasserene and unruffled. 

Barbara said suddenly: "You don't mean . .. But she--" and closed hermouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen. 

"Well, Your Majesty?" he said. "You have seen the thoughts of every manhere. 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 theimportant thing, you know. Their belief in us-- Just as you did thatfirst day we met. We've needed belief for so long . .. For so long--" Hervoice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a constellation ofthoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her Majesty. 

Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. "How about thespy?" he said. 

Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenlyforward. "That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity becauseof 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 forstare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in theroom's light. "Sir Kenneth, " she said--and her voice was only the leastbit unsteady--"they all think _I'm_ the spy. "

Barbara stood up. "Listen, " she said. "I didn't like Her Majesty atfirst . .. Well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when shestarted putting on airs . .. But since I've gotten to know her I do likeher. 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 ofyou 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 atelepath 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 aroundthe 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 thematter. Listen to him. "

"Her Majesty not only caught the spy, " Malone said, "but she turned thespy right over to us. "

He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door. _Ireally ought to get a sword_, he thought, and didn't see Her Majestysmile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said quietly: "Bringhim 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 makeno difference at all to him. His mind was--somewhere else. But his bodywas 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 andhis guards followed closely. 

"Your Majesty, " Malone said, "may I present the prisoner?"

"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth, " the Queen said. "Poor Willie is yourspy. 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 youhad. When we were in the Desert Edge Sanitarium, Dr. Dowson called youon 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 andyou didn't tell me?"

"Hold on, " Malone said. "I asked her where--and she said: 'He's rightthere. ' 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'tpointing 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 wassomething you said, Sir Andrew, " he went on. "You said there weren't anysane telepaths--remember?"

Burris, incapable of speech, merely nodded. 

"But according to Her Majesty, " Malone said, "we had every telepath inthe United States right here. She told me that--and I didn't even seeit!"

"Don't blame yourself, Sir Kenneth, " the Queen put in. "I did do my bestto 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 carbehind us, going eighty miles an hour. "

Barbara stared. Malone got a lot of satisfaction out of that stare. Butthere was still more ground to cover. 

"Then, " he said, "you told us he was here at Yucca Flats--after webrought 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, "andremembered that she'd only said: 'He's right there, ' I knew it had to beLogan. You weren't there. You were only an image on a TV screen. Loganwas there--in the room behind the phone. "

Burris had found his tongue. "All right, " he said. "O. K. But what's allthis 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 hadbetter explain that--if she will. "

 * * * * *

Queen Elizabeth Thompson nodded very slowly. "I . .. I only wanted you torespect me, " she said. "To treat me properly. " Her voice sounded uneven, and her eyes were glistening with unspilled tears. Lady Barbaratightened 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 backto the hospital, " she said. "And Willie couldn't tell the Russian agentsany more once he'd been taken away. So I thought I'd just . .. Just letthings stay the way they were as long as I could. That's . .. That'sall. "

Malone nodded. After a second he said: "You see that we couldn'tpossibly send you back now, don't you?"

"I--"

"You know all the State Secrets, Your Majesty, " Malone said. "We wouldrather that Dr. Harman in San Francisco didn't try to talk you out ofthem. Or anyone else. "

The Queen smiled tremulously. "I know too much, do I?" she said. Thenher grin faded. "Poor Dr. Harman, " she said. 

"Poor Dr. Harman?"

"You'll hear about him in a day or so, " she said. "I . .. Peeked insidehis 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 hismind. "

"Oh, my, " Lady Barbara said--and began to laugh. It was the nicest soundMalone had ever heard. 

"Forget Harman, " Burris snapped. "What about this spy ring? How wasLogan getting his information out?"

"I've already taken care of that, " Malone said. "I had Desert EdgeSanitarium surrounded as soon as I knew what the score was. " He lookedat one of the agents holding Logan. 

"They ought to be in the Las Vegas jail within half an hour, " the agentsaid 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 hopehe 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, " hesaid. "Logan is completely catatonic. Even if he could read minds, howcould 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'tmuch like being who he is. So he visits other people's minds, and thatway he becomes _them_ for a while. You see?"

"Vaguely, " Malone said. "But how did Dowson get his information? I hadeverything worked out but that. "

"I know you did, " the Queen said, "and I'm proud of you. I intend toaward 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. Ifhe's hurt enough, he'll come back. " Her eyes weren't hard any more. "Hedidn't want to be a spy, really, " she said, "but he's just a boy, and itmust have sounded rather exciting. He knew that if he told Dowsoneverything 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 HerMajesty rose. 

"I'm sure there are questions, " she said, "but I'm really very tired. Mylords, you are excused. " She extended a hand. "Come, Lady Barbara, " shesaid. "I think I really may need that nap, now. "

 * * * * *

Malone put the cuff links in his shirt with great care. They were greatstones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessaryElizabethan 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-whiteshirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from hiscloset rack. 

Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing. "Steppingout?" he said. 

"I am, " Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neckand 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. "Whohired 'em? And why?"

"Dowson, " Malone said. "He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Loganfrom the hotel room. But we foiled his plan--by killing his hoods. Bythe time he could work up something else, we were on our way to YuccaFlats. "

"Great, " Boyd said. "And how did you find out this startling piece ofinformation? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, havethere?"

"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'tanything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he wassomething 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 forsome bait. "You mean she knew?"

"Well, " Malone said, "she did know the guys in the Buick weren't thebest in the business--and she knew all about the specially-built FBILincoln. She got that from our minds. " He knotted his tie with an air ofgreat aplomb, and went, slowly to the door. "And she knew we were a goodteam. She got that from our minds, too. "

"But, " Boyd said. After a second he said: "But, " again, and followed itwith: "Why didn't she tell us?"

Malone opened the door. 

"Her Majesty wished to see the Queen's Own FBI in action, " said SirKenneth Malone. 

THE END