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Title : standard furniture essex 5 drawer chest

standard furniture essex 5 drawer chest

brain twister by mark phillips prologue "mark phillips" is, or are, two writers: randallgarrett and laurence m. janifer. their joint pen-name, derived from their middle names(philip and mark), was coined soon after their original meeting, at a science-fiction convention.both men were drunk at the time, which explains a good deal, and only one has ever soberedup. a matter for constant contention between the collaborators is which one. they have been collaborating for some timenow, and have devised an interesting method of work: mr. garrett handles the verbs, theadverbs and the interjections, mr. janifer

the nouns, pronouns, and adjectives. conjunctionsare a matter of joint decision, and in the case of a tie, the entire game is replayedat fenway park, boston, early in the following year. brain twister was fifteen years in the making,of which time three days were spent in the actual writing. when the book was finished,both authors relaxed in the mutual pleasure of nervous breakdowns, from which it is notcertain that either has ever recovered. mr. garrett is a large, roundish fellow witha beard. he wears flowered vests and always carries a small talisman which no one hasever seen. mr. janifer is a somewhat shorter and thinner type, with a shorter and thinnerbeard. his vests are in solid colors, he wears

horn-rimmed glasses because he has alwaysdone so, and he is never found without a souvenir subway token from the city of new york. the personal lives of the authors differ widely.mr. garrett's hobbies, for instance, include such sports as close-order drill and riverpollution. mr. janifer, a less active type, prefers sedentary games such as humming orblinking. mr. garrett is engaged to an exotically beautifulcreature, and the two plan to be married as soon as they run out of excuses. mr. janifer,on the other hand, is fascinated by women, and hopes some day to meet one. a shorter version of this work appeared inastounding

science fiction under the title of that sweetlittle old lady. in nineteen-fourteen, it was enemy aliens. in nineteen-thirty, it was wobblies. in nineteen-fifty-seven, it was fellow-travelers. and, in nineteen seventy-one, kenneth j. malonerolled wearily out of bed wondering what the hell it was going to be now. one thing, he told himself, was absolutelycertain: it was going to be terrible. it always was.

he managed to stand up, although he was swayingslightly when he walked across the room to the mirror for his usual morning look at himself.he didn't much like staring at his own face, first thing in the morning, but then, he toldhimself, it was part of the toughening- up process every fbi agent had to go through.you had to learn to stand up and take it when things got rough, he reminded himself. heblinked and looked into the mirror. his image blinked back. he tried a smile. it looked pretty horrible,he thought-”but, then, the mirror had a slight ripple in it, and the ripple distorted everything.malone's face looked as if it had been gently patted with a waffle-iron.

and, of course, it was still early morning,and that meant he was having a little difficulty in focusing his eyes. vaguely, he tried to remember the night before.he was just ending his vacation, and he thought he recalled having a final farewell partyfor two or three lovely female types he had chanced to meet in what was still the world'sfinest city of opportunity, washington, d.c. (latest female-to-male ratio, five-and-a-halfto one). the party had been a classic of its kind, complete with hot and cold running ideasof all sorts, and lots and lots of nice powerful liquor. malone decided sadly that the ripple wasn'tin the mirror, but in his head. he stared

at his unshaven face blearily. blink. ripple. quite impossible, he told himself. nobodycould conceivably look as horrible as kenneth j. malone thought he did. things just couldn'tbe as bad as all that. ignoring a still, small voice which askedpersistently: "why not?" he turned away from the mirror and set about finding his clothes.he determined to take his time about getting ready for work: after all, nobody could reallycomplain if he arrived late on his first day after vacation. everybody knew how tired vacationsmade a person. and, besides, there was probably nothing happeninganyway. things had, he recalled with faint

pleasure, been pretty quiet lately. ever sincethe counterfeiting gang he'd caught had been put away, crime seemed to have dropped tothe nice, simple levels of the 1950's and '60's. maybe, he hoped suddenly, he'd be ableto spend some time catching up on his scientific techniques, or his math, or pistol practice-â¦. the thought of pistol practice made his headbegin to throb with the authority of a true hangover. there were fifty or sixty smallgnomes inside his skull, he realized, all of them with tiny little hammers. they weremining for lead. "the lead," malone said aloud, "is fartherdown. not in the skull." the gnomes paid him no attention. he shuthis eyes and tried to relax. the gnomes went

right ahead with their work, and microscopicregiments of eagle scouts began marching steadily along his nerves. there were people, malone had always understood,who bounced out of their beds and greeted each new day with a smile. it didn't soundpossible, but then again there were some pretty strange people. the head of that counterfeitingring, for instance: where had he got the idea of picking an alias like andrã© gide? clutching at his whirling thoughts, maloneopened his eyes, winced, and began to get dressed. at least, he thought, it was goingto be a peaceful day. it was at this second that his private intercombuzzed.

malone winced again. "to hell with you," hecalled at the thing, but the buzz went on, ignoring the code shut-off. that meant, heknew, an emergency call, maybe from his chief of section. maybe even from higher up. "i'm not even late for work yet," he complained."i will be, but i'm not yet. what are they screaming about?" there was, of course, only one way to findout. he shuffled painfully across the room, flipped the switch and said: "malone here." vaguely, he wondered if itwere true. he certainly didn't feel as if he were here. or there. or anywhere at all,in fact.

a familiar voice came tinnily out of the receiver."malone, get down here right away!" the voice belonged to andrew j. burris. malonesighed deeply and felt grateful, for the fiftieth time, that he had never had a tv pickup installedin the intercom. he didn't want the fbi chief to see him looking as horrible as he did now,all rippled and everything. it wasn't-”well, it wasn't professional, that was all. "i'll get dressed right away," he assuredthe intercom. "i should be there in-”" "don't bother to get dressed," burris snapped."this is an emergency!" "but, chief-”" "and don't call me chief!"

"okay," malone said. "sure. you want me tocome down in my pyjamas. right?" "i want you to-”" burris stopped. "all right,malone. if you want to waste time while our country's life is at stake, you go ahead.get dressed. after all, malone, when i say something is an emergency-”" "i won't get dressed, then," malone said."whatever you say." "just do something!" burris told him desperately."your country needs you. pyjamas and all. malone, it's a crisis!" conversations with burris, malone told himself,were bound to be a little confusing. "i'll

be right down," he said. "fine," burris said, and hesitated. then headded: "malone, do you wear the tops or the bottoms?" "the what?" "of your pyjamas," burris explained hurriedly."the top part or the bottom part?" "oh," malone said. "as a matter of fact, iwear both." "good," burris said with satisfaction. "iwouldn't want an agent of mine arrested for indecent exposure." he rang off. malone blinked at the intercom for a minute,shut it off and then, ignoring the trip-hammers

in his skull and the eagle scouts on his nerves,began to get dressed. somehow, in spite of burris' feelings of crisis, he couldn't seehimself trying to flag a taxi on the streets of washington in his pyjamas. anyhow, notwhile he was awake. i dreamed i was an fbi agent, he thought sadly, in my drafty bvds. besides, it was probably nothing important.these things, he told himself severely, have a way of evaporating as soon as a clear, coldintelligence got hold of them. then he began wondering where in hell he wasgoing to find a clear, cold intelligence. or even, for that matter, what one was. chapter 1

"they could be anywhere," burris said, withan expression which bordered on exasperated horror. "they could be all around us. heavenonly knows." he pushed his chair back from his desk andstood up, a chunky little man with bright blue eyes and large hands. he paced to thewindow and looked out at washington, and then he came back to the desk. a persistent officerumor held that he had become head of the fbi purely because he happened to have aninitial j in his name, but in his case the j stood for jeremiah. and, at the moment,his tone expressed all the hopelessness of that old testament prophet's lamentations. "we're helpless," he said, looking at theyoung man with the crisp brown hair who was

sitting across the desk. "that's what it is,we're helpless." kenneth malone tried to look dependable. "justtell me what to do," he said. "you're a good agent, kenneth," burris said."you're one of the best. that's why you've been picked for this job. and i want to saythat i picked you personally. believe me, there's never been anything like it before." "i'll do my best," malone said at random.he was twenty-six, and he had been an fbi agent for three years. in that time, he had,among other things, managed to break up a gang of smugglers, track down a counterfeitingring, and capture three kidnappers. for reasons which he could neither understand nor explain,no one seemed willing to attribute his record

to luck. "i know you will," burris said. "and if anybodycan 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 wishedthe chief would get to the point. any point. he smiled gently across the desk and triedto look competent and dependable and reassuring. burris' expression didn't change. "you'll get the conference tapes later," burrissaid. "you can study them before you leave. i suggest you study them very carefully, malone.don't be like me. don't get confused." he buried his face in his hands. malone waitedpatiently. after a few seconds, burris looked

up. "did you read books when you were a child?"he asked. malone said: "what?" "books," burris said. "when you were a child.read them." "sure i did," malone said. "bomba the jungleboy, and doctor doolittle, and lucky starr, and little women-”" "little women?" "when beth died," malone said, "i wanted tocry. but i didn't. my father said big boys don't cry." "and your father was right," burris said."why, when i was a-”never mind. forget about

beth and your father. think about lucky starrfor a minute. remember him?" "sure," malone said. "i liked those books.you know it's funny, but the books you read when you're a kid, they kind of stay withyou. know what i mean? i can still remember that one about venus, for instance. gee, thatwas-”" "never mind about venus, too," burris saidsharply. "keep your mind on the problem." "yes, sir," malone said. he paused. "whatproblem, sir?" he added. "the problem we're discussing," burris said.he gave malone a bright, blank stare. "my god," he said. "just listen to me." "yes, sir."

"all right, then." burris took a deep breath.he seemed nervous. once again he stood up and went to the window. this time, he spokewithout turning. "remember how everybody used to laugh about spaceships, and orbital satellites,and life on other planets? that was just in those lucky starr books. that was all justfor kids, wasn't it?" "well, i don't know," malone said slowly. "sure it was all for kids," burris said. "itwas laughable. nobody took it seriously." "well, somebody must-”" "you just keep quiet and listen," burris said. "yes, sir," malone said.

burris nodded. his hands were clasped behindhis back. "we're not laughing any more, are we, malone?" he said without moving. there was silence. "well, are we?" "did you want me to answer, sir?" "of course i did!" burris snapped. "you told me to keep quiet and-”" "never mind what i told you," burris said."just do what i told you." "yes, sir," malone said. "no, sir," he addedafter a second.

"no, sir, what?" burris asked softly. "no, sir, we're not laughing any more," malonesaid. "ah," burris said. "and why aren't we laughingany more?" there was a little pause. malone said, tentatively:"because there's nothing to laugh about, sir?" burris whirled. "on the head!" he said happily."you've hit the nail on the head, kenneth. i knew i could depend on you." his voice grewserious again, and thoughtful. "we're not laughing any more because there's nothingto laugh about. we have orbital satellites, and we've landed on the moon with an atomicrocket. the planets are the next step, and after that the stars. man's heritage, kenneth.the stars. and the stars, kenneth, belong

to man-”not to the russians!" "yes, sir," malone said soberly. "so," burris said, "we should learn not tolaugh any more. but have we?" "i don't know, sir." "we haven't," burris said with decision. "canyou read my mind?" "no, sir," malone said. "can i read your mind?" malone hesitated. at last he said: "not thati know of, sir." "well, i can't," burris snapped. "and canany of us read each other's mind?"

malone shook his head. "no, sir," he said. burris nodded. "that's the problem," he said."that's the case i'm sending you out to crack." this time, the silence was a long one. at last, malone said: "what problem, sir?" "mind reading," burris said. "there's a spyat work in the nevada plant, kenneth. and the spy is a telepath." * * * * * the video tapes were very clear and very complete.there were a great many of them, and it was long after nine o'clock when kenneth malonedecided to take a break and get some fresh

air. washington was a good city for walking,even at night, and malone liked to walk. sometimes he pretended, even to himself, that he gothis best ideas while walking, but he knew perfectly well that wasn't true. his bestideas just seemed to come to him, out of nowhere, precisely as the situation demanded them. he was just lucky, that was all. he had atalent for being lucky. but nobody would ever believe that. a record like his was spectacular,even in the annals of the fbi, and burris himself believed that the record showed somekind of superior ability. malone knew that wasn't true, but what couldhe do about it? after all, he didn't want to resign, did he? it was kind of romanticand exciting to 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 pretty good, too. the only trouble was that, if he didn't quit,he was going to have to find a telepath. the notion of telepathic spies just didn'tsound right to malone. it bothered him in a remote sort of way. not that the idea oftelepathy itself was alien to him-”after all, he was even more aware than the averagecitizen that research had been going on in that field for something over a quarter ofa century, and that the research was even speeding up. but the cold fact that a telepathy-detectingdevice had been invented somehow shocked his

sense of propriety, and his notions of privacy.it wasn't decent, that was all. there ought to be something sacred, he toldhimself angrily. he stopped walking and looked up. he was onpennsylvania avenue, heading toward the white house. that was no good. he went to the corner andturned off, down the block. he had, he told himself, nothing at all to see the presidentabout. not yet, anyhow. the streets were dark and very peaceful. iget my best ideas while walking, malone said without convincing himself. he thought backto the video tapes.

the report on the original use of the machineitself had been on one of the first tapes, and malone could still see and hear it. thatwas one thing he did have, he reflected; his memory was pretty good. burris had been the first speaker on the tapes,and he'd given the serial and reference number in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. his facehad been perfectly blank, and he looked just like the head of the fbi people were accustomedto seeing on their tv and newsreel screens. malone wondered what had happened to him betweenthe time the tapes had been made and the time he'd sent for malone. maybe the whole notion of telepathy was beginningto get him, malone thought.

burris recited the standard tape-opening ina rapid mumble, like a priest involved in the formula of the mass: "any person or agentunauthorized for this tape please refrain from viewing further, under penalties as prescribedby law." then he looked off, out past the screen to the left, and said: "dr. thomaso'connor, of westinghouse laboratories. will you come here, dr. o'connor?" dr. o'connor came into the lighted squareof screen slowly, looking all around him. "this is very fascinating," he said, blinkingin the lamplight. "i hadn't realized that you people took so many precautions-”" he was, malone thought, somewhere betweenfifty and sixty, tall and thin with skin so

transparent that he nearly looked like a livingx- ray. he had pale blue eyes and pale white hair, and, malone thought, if there ever werea contest for the best-looking ghost, dr. thomas o'connor would win it hands (or phalanges)down. "this is all necessary for the national security,"burris said, a little sternly. "oh," dr. o'connor said quickly. "i realizethat, 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. aftera second he started again: "now, dr. o'connor,

would you please give us a sort of verbalrundown on this for our records?" "of course," dr. o'connor said. he smiledinto the video cameras and cleared his throat. "i take it you don't want an explanation ofhow this machine works. i mean: you don't want a technical exposition, do you?" "no," burris said, and added: "not by anymeans. just tell us what it does." dr. o'connor suddenly reminded malone of aprofessor he'd had in college for one of the law courses. he had, malone thought, the samesmiling gravity of demeanor, the same condescending attitude of absolute authority. it was clearthat dr. o'connor lived in a world of his own, a world that was not even touched bythe common run of men.

"well," he began, "to put it very simply,the device indicates whether or not a man's mental-”ah-”processes are being influencedby outside-” by outside influences." he gave the cameras another little smile. "if youwill allow me, i will demonstrate on the machine itself." he took two steps that carried him out ofcamera range, and returned wheeling a large heavy-looking box. dangling from the metalcovering were a number of wires and attachments. a long cord led from the box to the floorand snaked out of sight to the left. "now," dr. o'connor said. he selected a singlelead, apparently, malone thought, at random. "this electrode-”"

"just a moment, doctor," burris said. he waseyeing the machine with a combination 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 thelead. "telepathy," he said. "by outside influences, i meant influences on the mind, such as telepathyor mind-reading of some nature." "i see," burris said. "you can detect a telepathwith this machine." "i'm afraid-”" "well, some kind of a mind-reader anyhow,"burris said. "we won't quarrel about terms." "certainly not," dr. o'connor said. the smilehe turned on burris was as cold and empty

as the inside of orbital station one. "whati meant was-”if you will permit me to continue-”that we cannot detect any sort of telepathy ormind-reader with this device. to be frank, i very much wish that we could; it would makeeverything a great deal simpler. however, the laws of psionics don't seem to operatethat way." "well, then," burris said, "what does thething do?" his face wore a mask of confusion. momentarily, malone felt sorry for his chief.he could remember how he'd felt, himself, when that law professor had come up with aparticularly baffling question in class. "this machine," dr. o'connor said with authority,"detects the slight variations in mental activity that occur when a person's mind is being read."

"you mean, if my mind were being read rightnow-”" "not right now," dr. o'connor said. "you see,the bulk of this machine is in nevada; the structure is both too heavy and too delicatefor transport. and there are other qualifications-”" "i meant theoretically," burris said. "theoretically-”" dr. o'connor began, andsmiled again-”"theoretically, if your mind were being read, this machine would detectit, supposing that the machine were in operating condition and all of the other qualificationshad been met. you see, mr. burris, no matter how poor a telepath a man may be, he has someslight ability-”even if only very slight-”to detect the fact that his mind is being read."

"you mean, if somebody was reading my mind,i'd know it?" burris said. his face showed, malone realized, that he plainly disbelievedthis statement. "you would know it," dr. o'connor said, "butyou would never know you knew it. to elucidate: in a normal person-”like you, for instance,or even like myself-”the state of having one's mind read merely results in a vague,almost sub-conscious feeling of irritation, something that could easily be attributedto minor worries, or fluctuations in one's hormonal balance. the hormonal balance, mr.burris, is-”" "thank you," burris said with a trace of irritation."i know what hormones are." "ah. good," dr. o'connor said equably. "inany case, to continue: this machine interprets

those specific feelings as indications thatthe mind is being-”ah-”'eavesdropped' upon." you could almost see the quotation marks aroundwhat dr. o'connor considered slang dropping into place, malone thought. "i see," burris said with a disappointed air."but what do you mean, it won't detect a telepath? have you ever actually worked with a telepath?" "certainly we have," dr. o'connor said. "ifwe hadn't, how would we be able to tell that the machine was, in fact, indicating the presenceof telepathy? the theoretical state of the art is not, at present, sufficiently developedto enable us to-”" "i see," burris said hurriedly. "only waita minute."

"yes?" "you mean you've actually got a real mind-reader?you've found one? one that works?" dr. o'connor shook his head sadly. "i'm afraidi should have said, mr. burris, that we did once have one," he admitted. "he was, unfortunately,an imbecile, with a mental age between five and six, as nearly as we were ever able tojudge." "an imbecile?" burris said. "but how wereyou able to-”" "he could repeat a person's thoughts wordfor word," dr. o'connor said. "of course, he was utterly incapable of understandingthe meaning behind them. that didn't matter;

he simply repeated whatever you were thinking.rather disconcerting." "i'm sure," burris said. "but he was reallyan imbecile? there wasn't any chance of-”" "of curing him?" dr. o'connor said. "none,i'm afraid. we did at one time feel that there had been a mental breakdown early in the boy'slife, and, indeed, it's perfectly possible that he was normal for the first year or so.the records we did manage to get on that period, however, were very much confused, and therewas never any way of telling anything at all, for certain. it's easy to see what causedthe confusion, of course: telepathy in an imbecile is rather an oddity-” and any normaladult would probably be rather hesitant about admitting that he was capable of it. that'swhy we have not found another subject; we

must merely sit back and wait for lightningto strike." burris sighed. "i see your problem," he said."but what happened to this imbecile boy of yours?" "very sad," dr. o'connor said. "six monthsago, 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 medicaldepartment was able to provide, mr. burris. there was some malfunction-”but-”we liketo say that he simply gave up. living became too difficult for him."

"all right," burris said after a pause. "thistelepath of yours is dead, and there aren't any more where he came from. or if there are,you don't know how to look for them. all right. but to get back to this machine of yours:it couldn't detect the boy's ability?" dr. o'connor shook his head. "no, i'm afraidnot. we've worked hard on that problem at westinghouse, mr. burris, but we haven't yetbeen able to find a method of actually detecting telepaths." "but you can detect-”" "that's right," dr. o'connor said. "we candetect the fact that a man's mind is being read." he stopped, and his face became suddenlymorose. when he spoke again, he sounded guilty,

as if he were making an admission that painedhim. "of course, mr. burris, there's nothing we can do about a man's mind being read. nothingwhatever." he essayed a grin that didn't look very healthy. "but at least," he said, "youknow you're being spied on." burris grimaced. there was a little silencewhile dr. o'connor stroked the metal box meditatively, as if it were the head of his beloved. at last, burris said: "dr. o'connor, how surecan you be of all this?" the look he received made all the previousconversation seem as warm and friendly as a christmas party by comparison. it was alook that froze the air of the room into a solid chunk, malone thought, a chunk you couldhave chipped pieces from, for souvenirs, later,

when dr. o'connor had gone and you could getinto the room without any danger of being quick-frozen by the man's unfriendly eye. "mr. burris," dr. o'connor said in a voicethat matched the temperature of his gaze, "please. remember our slogan." malone sighed. he fished in his pocket fora pack of cigarettes, found one, and extracted a single cigarette. he stuck it in his mouthand started fishing in various pockets for his lighter. he sighed again. perfectly honestly, he preferredcigars, a habit he'd acquired from the days when he'd filched them from his father's cigar-case. but his mental picture of a 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 to picture the words-”he had the impressionthat cigars looked out of place on fbi agents. and it was, in any case, a small sacrificeto make. he found his lighter and shielded it from the brisk wind. he looked out overwater at the jefferson memorial, and was surprised that he'd managed to walk as far as he had.then he stopped thinking about walking, and took a puff of his cigarette, and forced himselfto think about the job in hand. naturally, the westinghouse gadget had beendeclared ultra top secret as soon as it had been worked out. virtually everything was,these days. and the whole group involved in

the machine and its workings had been transferredwithout delay to the united states laboratories out in yucca flats, nevada. out there in the desert, there just wasn'tmuch to do, malone supposed, except to play with the machine. and, of course, look atthe scenery. but when you've seen one desert, malone thought confusedly, you've seen themall. so, the scientists ran experiments on themachine, and they made a discovery of a kind they hadn't been looking for. somebody, they discovered, was picking thebrains of the scientists there. not the brains of the people working withthe telepathy machine.

and not the brains of the people working onthe several other earth- limited projects at yucca flats. they'd been reading the minds of some of thescientists working on the new and highly classified non-rocket space drive. in other words, the yucca flats plant wasinfested with a telepathic spy. and how do you go about finding a telepath? malone sighed.spies that got information in any of the usual ways were tough enough to locate. a telepathicspy was a lot tougher proposition. well, one thing about andrew j. burris. hehad an answer for everything. malone thought of what his chief had said: "it takes a thiefto catch a thief. and if the westinghouse

machine won't locate a telepathic spy, i knowwhat will." "what?" malone had asked. "it's simple," burris had said. "another telepath.there has to be one around somewhere. westinghouse did have one, after all, and the russiansstill have one. malone, that's your job: go out and find me a telepath." burris had an answer for everything, all right,malone thought. but he couldn't see where the answer did him very much good. after all,if it takes a telepath to catch a telepath, how do you catch the telepath you're goingto use to catch the first telepath? malone ran that through his mind again, andthen gave it up. it sounded as if it should

have made sense, somehow, but it just didn't,and that was all there was to that. he dropped his cigarette to the ground andmashed it out with the toe of his shoe. then he looked up. out there, over the water, was the jeffersonmemorial. it stood, white in the floodlights, beautiful and untouchable in the darkness.malone stared at it. what would thomas jefferson have done in a crisis like this? jefferson, he told himself without much conviction,would have been just as confused as he was. but he'd have had to find a telepath, malonethought. malone determined that he would do likewise, if thomas jefferson could do it,the least he, malone, could do was to give

it a good try. there was only one little problem: where, malone thought, do i start looking? chapter 2 early the next morning, malone awoke on aplane, heading across the continent toward nevada. he had gone home to sleep, and he'dhad to wake up to get on the plane, and now here he was, waking up again. it seemed, somehow,like a vicious circle. the engines hummed gently as they pushed thebig ship through the middle stratosphere's thinly distributed molecules. malone lookedout at the purple-dark sky and set himself

to think out his problem again. he was still mulling things over when theship lowered its landing gear and rolled to a stop on the big field near yucca flats.malone sighed and climbed slowly out of his seat. there was a car waiting for him at theairfield, though, and that seemed to presage a smooth time; malone remembered calling dr.o'connor the night before, and congratulated himself on his foresight. unfortunately, when he reached the main gateof the high double fence that surrounded the more than ninety square miles of united stateslaboratories, he found out that entrance into that sanctum sanctorum of security wasn'tas easy as he'd imagined-”not even for an

fbi man. his credentials were checked withthe kind of minute care malone had always thought people reserved for disputed art masterpieces,and it was with a great show of reluctance that the special security guards passed himinside as far as the office of the chief security officer. there, the chief security officer himself,a man who could have doubled for torquemada, eyed malone with ill-concealed suspicion whilehe called burris at fbi headquarters back in washington. burris identified malone on the video screenand the chief security officer, 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 westinghousedivision, it seemed, was a good two miles away. as malone knew perfectly well, the main portionof the entire yucca flats area was devoted solely to research on the new space drivewhich was expected to make the rocket as obsolete as the blunderbuss-”at least as far as spacetravel was concerned. not, malone thought uneasily, that the blunderbuss had ever beenused for space travel, but-” he got off the subject hurriedly. the jeepwhizzed by buildings, most of them devoted to aspects of the non-rocket drive. the otherprojects based at yucca flats had to share

what space was left-”and that included, ofcourse, the westinghouse research project. it turned out to be a single, rather smallwhite building with a fence around it. the fence bothered malone a little, but therewas no need to worry; this time he was introduced at once into dr. o'connor's office. it waspaneled in wallpaper manufactured to look like pine, and the telepathy expert sat behinda large black desk bigger than any malone had ever seen in the fbi offices. there wasn'ta scrap of paper on the desk; 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 sameas he'd looked on the fbi tapes. malone closed

the door of the office behind him, lookedfor a chair and didn't find one. in dr. o'connor's office, it was perfectly obvious, dr. o'connorsat down. you stood, and were uncomfortable. malone took off his hat. he reached acrossthe desk to shake hands with the telepathy expert, and dr. o'connor gave him a limp fragilepaw. "thanks for giving me a little time," malone said. "i really appreciate it." hesmiled across the desk. his feet were already beginning to hurt. "not at all," dr. o'connor said, returningthe smile with one of his own special quick-frozen brand. "i realize how important fbi work isto all of us, mr. malone. what can i do to help you?"

malone shifted his feet. "i'm afraid i wasn'tvery specific on the phone last night," he said. "it wasn't anything i wanted to discussover a line that might have been tapped. you see, i'm on the telepathy case." dr. o'connor's eyes widened the merest trifle."i see," he said. "well, i'll certainly do everything i canto help you." "fine," malone said. "let's get right downto business, then. the first thing i want to ask you about is this detector of yours.i understand it's too big to carry around-”but how about making a smaller model?" "smaller?" dr. o'connor permitted himselfa ghostly chuckle. "i'm afraid that isn't

possible, mr. malone. i would be happy tolet you have a small model of the machine if we had one available-”more than happy.i would like to see such a machine myself, as a matter of fact. unfortunately, mr. malone-”" "there just isn't one, right?" malone said. "correct," dr. o'connor said. "and there area few other factors. in the first place, the person being analyzed has to be in a speciallyshielded room, such as is used in encephalographic analysis. otherwise, the mental activity ofthe other persons around him would interfere with the analysis." he frowned a little. "icould wish that we knew a bit more about psionic machines. the trouble with the present device,frankly, is that it is partly psionic and

partly electronic, and we can't be entirelysure where one part leaves off and the other begins. very trying. very trying indeed." "i'll bet it is," malone said sympathetically,wishing he understood what dr. o'connor was talking about. the telepathy expert sighed. "however," hesaid, "we keep working at it." then he looked at malone expectantly. malone shrugged. "well, if i can't carry thething around, i guess that's that," he said. "but here's the next question: do you happento know the maximum range of a telepath? i mean: how far away can he get from anotherperson and still read his mind?"

dr. o'connor frowned again. "we don't havedefinite information on that, i'm afraid," he said. "poor little charlie was rather difficultto work with. he was mentally incapable of cooperating in any way, you see." "little charlie?" "charles o'neill was the name of the telepathwe worked with," dr. o'connor explained. "i remember," malone said. the name had beenon one of the tapes, but he just hadn't associated "charles o'neill" with "little charlie." hefelt as if he'd been caught with his homework undone. "how did you manage to find him, anyway?"he said. maybe, if he knew how westinghouse

had found their imbecile-telepath, he'd havesome kind of clue that would enable him to find one, too. anyhow, it was worth a try. "it wasn't difficult in charlie's case," dr.o'connor said. he smiled. "the child babbled all the time, you see." "you mean he talked about being a telepath?" dr. o'connor shook his head impatiently. "no,"he said. "not at all. i mean that he babbled. literally. here: i've got a sample recordingin my files." he got up from his chair and went to the tall gray filing cabinet thathid in a far corner of the pine-paneled room. from a drawer he extracted a spool of commonaudio tape, and returned to his desk.

"i'm sorry we didn't get full video on this,"he said, "but we didn't feel it was necessary." he opened a panel in the upper surface ofthe desk, and slipped the spool in. "if you like, there are other tapes-”" "maybe later," malone said. dr. o'connor nodded and pressed the playbackswitch at the side of the great desk. for a second the room was silent. then there was the hiss of empty tape, anda brisk masculine voice that overrode it: "westinghouse laboratories," it said, "sixteenapril nineteen-seventy. dr. walker speaking. the voice you are about to hear belongs tocharles o'neill: chronological age fourteen

years, three months; mental age, approximatelyfive years. further data on this case will be found in the file o'neill." there was a slight pause, filled with moretape hiss. then the voice began. "-⦠push the switch for record -⦠in thepark last wednesday -⦠and perhaps a different set of -⦠poor kid never makes any sensein -⦠trees and leaves all sunny with the -⦠electronic components of the reducingstage might be -⦠not as predictable when others are around but -⦠to go with sallysome night in the-â¦." it was a childish, alto voice, gabbling ina monotone. a phrase would be spoken, the

voice would hesitate for just an instant,and then another, totally disconnected phrase would come. the enunciation and pronunciationwould vary from phrase to phrase, but the tone remained essentially the same, drainedof all emotional content. "-⦠in receiving psychocerebral impulsesthere isn't any -⦠nonsense and nothing but nonsense all the -⦠tomorrow or maybe saturdaywith the girl -⦠tube might be replaceable only if . . . something ought to be done forthe . . . saturday would be a good time for -⦠work on the schematics tonight if-â¦." there was a click as the tape was turned off,and dr. o'connor looked up. "it doesn't make much sense," malone said."but the kid sure has a hell of a vocabulary

for an imbecile." "vocabulary?" dr. o'connor said softly. "that's right," malone said. "where'd an imbecileget words like 'psychocerebral?' i don't think i know what that means, myself." "ah," dr. o'connor said. "but that's not hisvocabulary, you see. what charlie is doing is simply repeating the thoughts of thosearound him. he jumps from mind to mind, simply repeating whatever he receives." his faceassumed the expression of a man remembering a bad taste in his mouth. "that's how we foundhim out, mr. malone," he said. "it's rather startling to look at a blithering idiot andhave him suddenly repeat the very thought

that's in your mind." malone nodded unhappily. it didn't seem asif o'connor's information was going to be a lot of help as far as catching a telepathwas concerned. an imbecile, apparently, would give himself away if he were a telepath. butnobody else seemed to be likely to do that. and imbeciles didn't look like very good materialfor catching spies with. then he brightened. "doctor, is it possible that the spy we'relooking for really isn't a spy?" "eh?" "i mean, suppose he's an imbecile, too? idoubt whether an imbecile would really be a spy, if you see what i mean."

dr. o'connor appeared to consider the notion.after a little while he said: "it is, i suppose, possible. but the readings on the machinedon't give us the same timing as they did in charlie's case-”or even the same sortof timing." "i don't quite follow you," malone said. truthfully, he felt about three miles behind.but perhaps everything would clear up soon. he hoped so. on top of everything else, hisfeet were now hurting a lot more. "perhaps if i describe one of the tests weran," 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 to his left hand.

"we put one of our test subjects in the insulatedroom," dr. o'connor said, "and connected him to the detector. he was to read from a book-”a book that was not too common. this was, of course, to obviate the chance that someother person nearby might be reading it, or might have read it in the past. we pickedthe blood is the death by hieronymus melanchthon, which, as you may know, is a very rare bookindeed." "sure," malone said. he had never heard ofthe book, but he was, after all, willing to take dr. o'connor's word for it. the telepathy expert went on: "our test subjectread it carefully, scanning rather than skimming. cameras recorded the movements of his eyesin order for us to tell just what he was reading

at any given moment, in order to correlatewhat was going on in his mind with the reactions of the machine's indicators, if you followme." malone nodded helplessly. "at the same time," dr. o'connor continuedblithely, "we had charlie in a nearby room, recording his babblings. every so often, hewould come out with quotations from the blood is the death, and these quotations correspondedexactly with what our test subject was reading at the time, and also corresponded with theabnormal fluctuations of the detector." dr. o'connor paused. something, malone realized,was expected of him. he thought of several responses and choseone. "i see," he said.

"but the important thing here," dr. o'connorsaid, "is the timing. you see, charlie was incapable of continued concentration. he couldnot keep his mind focused on another mind for very long, before he hopped to still another.the actual amount of time concentrated on any given mind at any single given periodvaried from a minimum of one point three seconds to a maximum of two point six. the timingsamples, when plotted graphically 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 ballcurve was the same thing as a belled skew curve, and if not, why not? "it was, in fact," dr. o'connor continuedrelentlessly, "a sudden variation in those

timings which convinced us that there wasanother telepath somewhere in the vicinity. we were conducting a second set of readingexperiments, in precisely the same manner as the first set, and, for the first partof the experiment, our figures were substantially the same. but-”" he stopped. "yes?" malone said, shifting his feet andtrying to take some weight off his left foot by standing on his right leg. then he stoodon his left leg. it didn't seem to do any good. "i should explain," dr. o'connor said, "thatwe were conducting this series with a new set of test subjects: some of the scientistshere at yucca flats. we wanted to see if the

intelligence quotients of the subjects affectedthe time of contact which charlie was able to maintain. naturally, we picked the menhere with the highest iq's, the two men we have who are in the top echelon of the creativegenius class." he cleared his throat. "i did not include myself, of course, since i wishedto remain an impartial observer, as much as possible." "of course," malone said without surprise. "the other two geniuses," dr. o'connor said,"the other two geniuses both happen to be connected with the project known as projectisle-”an operation whose function i neither know, nor care to know, anything at all about."

malone nodded. project isle was the non-rocketspaceship. classified. top secret. ultra secret. and, he thought, just about anything elseyou could think of. "at first," dr. o'connor was saying, "ourdetector recorded the time periods of-”ah-”mental invasion as being the same as before. then,one day, anomalies began to appear. the detector showed that the minds of our subjects werebeing held for as long as two or three minutes. but the phrases repeated by charlie duringthese periods showed that his own contact time remained the same; that is, they fellwithin the same skewed bell curve as before, and the mode remained constant if nothingbut the phrase length were recorded." "hmm," malone said, feeling that he oughtto be saying something.

dr. o'connor didn't notice him. "at firstwe thought of errors in the detector machine," he went on. "that worried us not somewhat,since our understanding of the detector is definitely limited at this time. we do feelthat it would be possible to replace some of the electronic components with appropriatesymbolization like that already used in the purely psionic sections, but we have, as yet,been unable to determine exactly which electronic components must be replaced by what symboliccomponents." malone nodded, silently this time. he hadthe sudden feeling that dr. o'connor's flow of words had broken itself up into a vastsea of alphabet soup, and that he, malone, was occupied in drowning in it.

"however," dr. o'connor said, breaking whatwas left of malone's train of thought, "young charlie died soon thereafter, and we decidedto go on checking the machine. it was during this period that we found someone else readingthe minds of our test subjects-”sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes for several minutes." "aha," malone said. things were beginningto make sense again. someone else. that, of course, was the spy. "i found," dr. o'connor said, "on interrogatingthe subjects more closely, that they were, in effect, thinking on two levels. they werereading the book mechanically, noting the words and sense, but simply shuttling thematerial directly into their memories without

actually thinking about it. the actual thinkingportions of their minds were concentrating on aspects of project isle." there was a little silence. "in other words," malone said, "someone wasspying on them for information about project isle?" "precisely," dr. o'connor said with a frosty,teacher-to-student smile. "and whoever it was had a much higher concentration time thancharlie had ever attained. he seems to be able to retain contact as long as he can finduseful 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'connorsaid. "what does that have to do with it?" "well," malone said, "if he knows you andyour group are working on telepathy and can detect what he's doing, why didn't he justhold off on the minds of those geniuses when they were being tested in your machine?" dr. o'connor frowned. "i'm afraid that i can'tbe sure," he said, and it was clear from his tone that, if dr. thomas o'connor wasn't sure,no one in the entire world was, had been, or ever would be. "i do have a theory, however,"he said, brightening up a trifle.

malone waited patiently. "he must know our limitations," dr. o'connorsaid at last. "he must be perfectly well aware that there's not a single thing we can doabout him. he must know that we can neither find nor stop him. why should he worry? hecan afford to ignore us-”or even bait us. we're helpless, and he knows it." that, malone thought, was about the most cheerlessthought he had heard in sometime. "you mentioned that you had an insulated room,"the fbi agent said after a while. "couldn't you let your men think in there?" dr. o'connor sighed. "the room is shieldedagainst magnetic fields and electro-magnetic

radiation. it is perfectly transparent topsionic phenomena, just as it is to gravitational fields." "oh," malone said. he realized rapidly thathis question had been a little silly to begin with, since the insulated room had been theplace where all the tests had been conducted in the first place. "i don't want to takeup too much of your time, doctor," he said after a pause, "but there are a couple ofother questions." "go right ahead," dr. o'connor said. "i'msure i'll be able to help you." malone thought of mentioning how little helpthe doctor had been to date, but decided against it. why antagonize a perfectly good scientistwithout any reason? instead, he selected his

first question, and asked it. "have you gotany idea how we might lay our hands on another telepath? preferably one that's not an imbecile,of course." dr. o'connor's expression changed from patientwisdom to irritation. "i wish we could, mr. malone. i wish we could. we certainly needone here to help us here with our work-”and i'm sure that your work is important, too.but i'm afraid we have no ideas at all about finding another telepath. finding little charliewas purely fortuitous-” purely, mr. malone, fortuitous." "ah," malone said. "sure. of course." he thoughtrapidly and discovered that he couldn't come up with one more question. as a matter offact, he'd asked a couple of questions already,

and he could barely remember the answers."well," he said, "i guess that's about it, then, doctor. if you come across anythingelse, be sure and let me know." he leaned across the desk, extending a hand."and thanks for your time," he added. dr. o'connor stood up and shook his hand."no trouble, i assure you," he said. "and i'll certainly give you all the informationi can." malone turned and walked out. surprisingly,he discovered that his feet and legs still worked. he had thought they'd turned to stonein the office long before. it was on the plane back to washington thatmalone got his first inkling of an idea. the only telepath that the westinghouse boyshad been able to turn up was charles o'neill,

the youthful imbecile. all right, then. suppose there were anotherlike him. imbeciles weren't very difficult to locate. most of them would be in institutions,and the others would certainly be on record. it might be possible to find someone, anyway,who could be handled and used as a tool to find a telepathic spy. and-”happy thought!-”maybe one of them wouldturn out to be a high- grade imbecile, or even a moron. even if they only turned up another imbecile,he thought wearily, at least dr. o'connor would have something to work with.

he reported back to burris when he arrivedin washington, told him about the interview with dr. o'connor, and explained what hadcome to seem a rather feeble brainstorm. "it doesn't seem too productive," burris said,with a shade of disappointment in his voice, "but we'll try it." at that, it was a better verdict than malonehad tried for. though, of course, it meant extra work for him. orders went out to field agents all over theunited states, and, quietly but efficiently, the fbi went to work. agents began to probeand pry and poke their noses into the files and data sheets of every mental institutionin the fifty states-”as far, at any rate,

as they were able. and kenneth j. malone was in the lead. there had been some talk of his staying inwashington to collate the reports as they came in, but that had sounded even worse thanhaving to visit hospitals. "you don't need me to do a job like that," he'd told burris."let's face it, chief: if we find a telepath the agent who finds him will say so. if wedon't, he'll say that, too. you could get a chimpanzee to collate reports like that." burris looked at him speculatively, and forone horrible second malone could almost hear him sending out an order to find, and hire,a chimpanzee (after security clearance, of

course, for whatever organizations a chimpanzeecould join). but all he said, in what was almost a mild voice, was: "all right, malone.and don't call me chief." the very mildness of his tone showed how worriedthe man was, malone realized, and he set out for the first hospital on his own list withgrim determination written all over his face and a heartbeat that seemed to hammer at himthat his country expected every man to do his duty. "i find my duty hard to do today," he murmuredunder his breath. it was all right to tell himself that he had to find a telepath. buthow did you go about it? did you just knock on hospital doors and ask them if they hadanybody who could read minds?

"you know," malone told himself in a surprisedtone, "that isn't such a bad idea." it would, at any rate, let him know whether the hospitalhad any patients who thought they could read minds. from them on, it would probably besimple to apply a test, and separate the telepathic sheep from the psychotic goats. the image that created in his mind was soodd that malone, in self- defense, stopped thinking altogether until he'd reached thefirst hospital, a small place situated in the shrinking countryside west of washington. it was called, he knew, the rice pavilion. the place was small, and white. it bore afaint resemblance to monticello, but then

that was true, malone reflected, of eightout of ten public buildings of all sorts. the front door was large and opaque, and malonewent up the winding driveway, climbed a short flight of marble steps, and rapped sharply. the door opened instantly. "yes?" said theman inside, a tall, balding fellow wearing doctor's whites and a sad, bloodhound-likeexpression. "yes," malone said automatically. "i mean-”myname is kenneth j. malone." "mine," said the bloodhound, "is blake. doctorandrew blake." there was a brief pause. "is there anything we can do for you?" the doctorwent on.

"well," malone said, "i'm looking for peoplewho can read minds." blake didn't seem at all surprised. he noddedquietly. "of course," he said. "i understand perfectly." "good," malone told him. "you see, i thoughti'd have a little trouble finding-”" "oh, no trouble at all, i assure you," blakewent on, just as mournfully as ever. "you've come to the right place, believe me, mr.-”ah-”" "malone," malone said. "kenneth j. frankly,i didn't think i'd hit the jackpot this early-”i mean, you were the first on my list-”" the doctor seemed suddenly to realize thatthe two of them were standing out on the portico.

"won't you come inside?" he said, with a friendlygesture. he stepped aside and malone walked through the doorway. just inside it, three men grabbed him. malone, surprised by this sudden reception,fought with every ounce of his fbi training. but the three men had his surprise on theirside, and three against one was heavy odds for any man, trained or not. his neck placed firmly between one upper andlower arm, his legs pinioned and his arms flailing wildly, malone managed to shout:"what the hell is this? what's going on?" dr. blake was watching the entire operationfrom a standpoint a few feet away. he didn't

look as if his expression were ever goingto change. "it's all for your own good, mr. malone,"he said calmly. "please believe me." "my god!" malone said. he caught somebody'sface with one hand and then somebody else grabbed the hand and folded it back with irresistibleforce. he had one arm free, and he tried to use it-”but not for long. "you think i'mnuts!" he shouted, as the three men produced a strait-jacket from somewhere and began tocram him into it. "wait!" he cried, as the canvas began to cramp him. "you're wrong!you're making a terrible mistake!" "of course," dr. blake said. "but if you'lljust relax we'll soon be able to help you-”" the strait-jacket was on. malone sagged insideit like a rather large and sweaty butterfly

rewrapped in a cocoon. dimly, he realizedthat he sounded like every other nut in the world. all of them would be sure to tell thedoctor and the attendants that they were making a mistake. all of them would claim they weresane. there was, of course, a slight difference.but how could malone manage to prove it? the three men held him up. "now, now," dr. blake said. "you can walk,mr. malone. suppose you just follow me to your room-”" "my room?" malone said. "now, you listen tome, doctor. if you don't take this stuff off me at once i promise you the president willhear of it. and i don't know how he'll take

interference in a vital mission-”" "the president?" blake asked quietly. "whatpresident, mr. malone?" "the president of the united states, damnit!" malone shouted. "hmm," blake said. that was no good, either, malone realized.every nut would have some sort of direct pipeline to the president, or god, or somebody highup. nuts were like that. but he was an fbi agent. a special agent ona vital mission. he said so. "now, now, mr. malone," blake told him. "let'sget to your room, shall we, and then we can

talk things over." "i can prove it!" malone told him. the threemen picked him up. "my identification is in my pocket-”" "really?" blake said. they started moving down the long front hall. "all you have to do is take this thing offso i can get at my pockets-”" malone began. but even he could see that this new plan wasn'tgoing to work, either. "take it off?" blake said. "oh, certainly,mr. malone. certainly. just as soon as we

have you comfortably settled." it was ridiculous, malone told himself asthe men carried him away. it couldn't happen: an fbi agent mistaken for a nut, wrapped ina strait- jacket and carried to a padded cell. unfortunately, ridiculous or not, it was happening. and there was absolutely nothing to do aboutit. malone thought with real longing of his nice,safe desk in washington. suddenly he discovered in himself a great desire to sit around andcollate reports. but no-”he had to be a hero. he had to go and get himself involved. this, he thought, will teach me a great lesson.the next time i get offered a job a chimpanzee

can do, i'll start eating bananas. it was at this point in his reflections thathe reached a small door. dr. blake opened it and the three men carried malone inside.he was dumped carefully on the floor. then the door clanged shut. alone, malone told himself bitterly, at last. after a minute or so had gone by he beganto think about getting out. he could, it occurred to him, scream for help. but that would onlybring more attendants, and very possibly dr. blake again, and somehow malone felt thatfurther conversation with dr. blake was not likely to lead to any very rational end.

sooner or later, he knew, they would haveto let him loose. after all, he was an fbi agent, wasn't he? alone, in a single cheerless cell, caughtup in the toils of a strait- jacket, he began to doubt the fact. maybe blake was right;maybe they were all right. maybe he, kenneth j. malone, was totally mad. he told himself firmly that the idea was ridiculous. but, then, what wasn't? the minutes ticked slowly by. after a whilethe three guards came back, opening the door and filing into the room carefully. malone,feeling more than ever like something in a

cocoon, watched them with interest. they shutthe door carefully behind them and stood before him. "now, then," one of them said. "we're goingto take the jacket off, if you promise to be a good boy." "sure," malone said. "and when you take myclothing, look in the pockets." "the pockets?" "to find my fbi identification," malone saidwearily. he only half- believed the idea himself, but half a belief, he told himself confusedly,was better than no mind at all. the attendants nodded solemnly.

"sure we will," one of them said, "if you'rea good boy and don't act up rough on us now. okay?" malone nodded. carefully, two of the attendantsbegan to unbuckle him while the third stood by for reinforcements. malone made no fuss. in five minutes he was naked as-”he toldhimself-”a jay-bird. what was so completely nude about those particular birds escapedhim for the moment, but it wasn't important. the three men were all holding various partsof the strait-jacket or of his clothing. they were still watching him warily. "look in the pockets," malone said.

"sure," one said. the man holding the jacketreached into it and dropped it as if it were hot. "hey," he announced in a sick voice, "theguy's carrying a gun." "a gun?" the second one asked. the first one gestured toward the crumpledjacket on the floor. "look for yourself," he said. "a real honest-to-god gun. i couldfeel it." malone leaned against one wall, looking asnonchalant as it was possible for him to look in the nude. the room being cool, he felthe was succeeding reasonably well. "try the other pocket," he suggested.

the first attendant gave him a long stare."what've you got in there, buddy?" he asked. "a howitzer?" "jesus," the second attendant said, withoutmoving toward the jacket. "an armed nut. what a world." "try the pocket," malone said. a second went by. the first attendant bentdown slowly, picked up the jacket and slipped his hand into the other inside pocket. hecame out with a wallet and flipped it open. the others looked over his shoulder. there was a long minute of silence.

"jesus," the second attendant said, as ifit were the only word left in the language. malone sighed. "there, now," he said. "yousee? suppose you give me back my clothes and let's get down to brass tacks." it wasn't that simple, of course. first the attendants had to go and get dr.blake, and everybody had to explain everything three or four times, until malone was justas sick of being an fbi agent as he had ever been of being a padded-cell case. but, atlast, he stood before dr. blake in the corridor outside, once again fully dressed. slightlyrumpled, of course, but fully dressed. it did, malone thought, make a difference, andif clothes didn't exactly make the man they

were a long way from a hindrance. "mr. malone," blake was saying, "i want tooffer my apologies-”" "perfectly okay," malone said agreeably. "buti would like to know something. do you treat all your visitors like this? i mean-”themilkman, the mailman, relatives of patients-”" "it's not often we get someone here who claimsto be from the fbi," blake said. "and naturally our first thought was that-”well, sometimesa patient will come in, just give himself up, so to speak. his unconscious mind knowsthat he needs help, and so he comes to us. we try to help him." privately, malone told himself that it wasa hell of a way to run a hospital. aloud,

all he said was: "sure. i understand perfectly,doctor." dr. blake nodded. "and now," he said, "whatdid you want to talk to me about?" "just a minute." malone closed his eyes. he'dtold burris he would check in, and he was late. "have you got a phone i can use?" "certainly," blake said, and led him downthe corridor to a small office. malone went to the phone at one end and began dialingeven before blake shut the door and left him alone. the screen lit up instantly with burris' face."malone, where the hell have you been?" the head of the fbi roared. "i've been tryingto get in touch with you-”"

"sorry," malone said. "i was tied up." "what do you mean, tied up?" burris said."do you know i was just about to send out a general search order? i thought they'd gotyou." "they?" malone said, interested. "who?" "how the hell would i know who?" burris roared. "well, nobody got me," malone said. "i'vebeen investigating rice pavilion, just like i'm supposed to do." "then why didn't you check in?" burris asked. malone sighed. "because i got myself lockedup," he said, and explained. burris listened

with patience. when malone was finished, burris said: "you'recoming right on back." "but-”" "no arguments," burris told him. "if you'regoing to let things like that happen to you you're better off here. besides, there areplenty of men doing the actual searching. there's no need-”" secretly, malone felt relief. "well, all right,"he said. "but let me check out this place first, will you?" "go ahead," burris said. "but get right onback here."

malone agreed and snapped the phone off. thenhe turned back to find dr. blake. examining hospital records was not an easyjob. the inalienable right of a physician to refuse to disclose confidences respectinga patient applied even to idiots, imbecile and morons. but malone had a slight edge,due to dr. blake's embarrassment, and he put it mercilessly to work. for all the good it did him he might as wellhave stayed in his cell. there wasn't even the slightest suspicion in any record thatany of the rice pavilion patients were telepathic. "are you sure that's what you're looking for?"blake asked him, some hours later.

"i'm sure," malone said. "when you eliminatethe impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." "oh," blake said. after a second he added:"what does that mean?" malone shrugged. "it's an old saying," hetold the doctor. "it doesn't have to mean anything. it just sounds good." "oh," blake said again. after a while, malone said farewell to goodold rice pavilion, and headed back to washington. there, he told himself, everything would bepeaceful. and so it was. peaceful and dispiriting.

every agent had problems getting reports fromhospitals-”and not even the fbi could open the private files of a licensed and registeredpsychiatrist. but the field agents did the best they couldand, considering the circumstances, their best was pretty good. malone, meanwhile, put in two weeks sittingglumly at his washington desk and checking reports as they arrived. they were uniformlydepressing. the united states of america contained more sub-normal minds than malone cared tothink about. there seemed to be enough of them to explain the results of any electionyou were unhappy over. unfortunately, subnormal was all you could call them. like the patientsat rice pavilion, not one of them appeared

to possess any abnormal psionic abilitieswhatever. there were a couple who were reputed to bepoltergeists-”but in neither case was there a single shred of evidence to substantiatethe claim. at the end of the second week, malone wasjust about convinced that his idea had been a total washout. he himself had been lockedup in a padded cell, and other agents had spent a full fortnight digging up imbeciles,while the spy at yucca flats had been going right on his merry way, scooping informationout of the men at project isle as though he were scooping beans out of a pot. and, verylikely, laughing himself silly at the feeble efforts of the fbi.

who could he be? anyone, malone told himself unhappily. anyoneat all. he could be the janitor who swept out the buildings, one of the guards at thegate, one of the minor technicians on another project, or even some old prospector wanderingaround the desert with a scintillation counter. is there any limit to telepathic range? the spy could even be sitting quietly in anarmchair in the kremlin, probing through several thousand miles of solid earth to peep intothe brains of the men on project isle. that was, to say the very least, a depressingidea. malone found he had to assume that the spywas in the united states-” that, in other

words, there was some effective range to telepathiccommunication. otherwise, there was no point in bothering to continue the search. therefore, he found one other thing to do.he alerted every agent to the job of discovering how the spy was getting his information outof the country. he doubted that it would turn up anything,but it was a chance. and malone hoped desperately for it, because he was beginning to be surethat the field agents were never going to turn up any telepathic imbeciles. he was right. they never did. chapter 3

the telephone rang. malone rolled over on the couch and mutteredfour words under his breath. was it absolutely necessary for someone to call him at sevenin the morning? he grabbed at the receiver with one hand,and picked up his cigar from the ashtray with the other. it was bad enough to be awakenedfrom a sound sleep-”but when a man hadn't been sleeping at all, it was even worse. he'd been sitting up since before five thatmorning, worrying about the telepathic spy, and at the moment he wanted sleep more thanhe wanted phone calls. "gur?" he said, sleepily and angrily, thankfulthat he'd never had a visiphone installed

in his apartment. a taste for blondes wasapparently hereditary. at any rate, malone felt he had inherited it from his father,and he didn't want any visible strangers calling him at odd hours to interfere with his processof collection and research. he blinked at the audio circuit, and a femininevoice said: "mr. kenneth j. malone?" "who's this?" malone said peevishly, beginningto discover himself capable of semirational english speech. "long distance from san francisco," the voicesaid. "it certainly is," malone said. "who's calling?"

"san francisco is calling," the voice saidprimly. malone repressed a desire to tell the voicethat he didn't want to talk to st. francis, not even in spanish, and said instead: "whoin san francisco?" there was a momentary hiatus, and then thevoice said: "mr. thomas boyd is calling, sir. he says this is a scramblecall." malone took a drag from his cigar and closedhis eyes. obviously the call was a scramble. if it had been clear, the man would have dialeddirect, instead of going through what malone now recognized as an operator. "mr. boyd says he is the agent-in-charge ofthe san francisco office of the fbi," the

voice offered. "and quite right, too," malone told her. "allright. put him on." "one moment," there was a pause, a click,another pause and then another click. at last the operator said: "your party is ready, sir." then there was still another pause. malone stared at the audio receiver. he beganto whistle when irish eyes are smiling. -⦠and the sound of irish laughter-â¦. "hello?malone?" "i'm here, tom," malone said guiltily. "thisis me. what's the trouble?"

"trouble?" boyd said. "there isn't any trouble.well, not really. or maybe it is. i don't know." malone scowled at the audio receiver, andfor the first time wished he had gone ahead and had a video circuit put in, so that boydcould see the horrendous expression on his face. "look," he said. "it's seven here and that'stoo early. out there, it's four, and that's practically ridiculous. what's so important?" he knew perfectly well that boyd wasn't callinghim just for the fun of it. the man was a damned good agent. but why a call at thishour?

malone muttered under his breath. then, self-consciously,he squashed out his cigar and lit a cigarette while boyd was saying: "ken, i think we mayhave found what you've been looking for." it wasn't safe to say too much, even overa scrambled circuit. but malone got the message without difficulty. "yeah?" he said, sitting up on the edge ofthe couch. "you sure?" "well," boyd said, "no. not absolutely sure.not absolutely. but it is worth your taking a personal look, i think." "ah," malone said cautiously. "an imbecile?" "no," boyd said flatly. "not an imbecile.definitely not an imbecile.

as a matter of fact, a hell of a fat longway from an imbecile." malone glanced at his watch and skimmed overthe airline timetables in his mind. "i'll be there nine o'clock, your time," he said."have a car waiting for me at the field." as usual, malone managed to sleep better onthe plane than he'd been able to do at home. he slept so well, in fact, that he was stillgroggy when he stepped into the waiting car. "good to see you, ken," boyd said briskly,as he shook malone's hand. "you, too, tom," malone said sleepily. "nowwhat's all this about?" he looked around apprehensively. "no bugs in this car, i hope?" he said. boyd gunned the motor and headed toward thesan francisco freeway.

"better not be," he said, "or i'll fire mea technician or two." "well, then," malone said, relaxing againstthe upholstery, "where is this guy, and who is he? and how did you find him?" boyd looked uncomfortable. it was, somehow,both an awe-inspiring and a slightly risible sight. six feet one and one-half inches tallin his flat feet, boyd posted around over two hundred and twenty pounds of bone, fleshand muscle. he swung a pot-belly of startling proportions under the silk shirting he wore,and his face, with its wide nose, small eyes and high forehead, was half highly mature,half startlingly childlike. in an apparent effort to erase those childlike qualities,boyd sported a fringe of beard and a moustache

which reminded malone of somebody he couldn'tquite place. but whoever the somebody was, his hair hadn'tbeen black, as boyd's was-⦠he decided it didn't make any difference.anyhow, boyd was speaking. "in the first place," he said, "it isn't aguy. in the second, i'm not exactly sure who it is. and in the third, ken, i didn't findit." "don't tell me," malone said. "it's a telepathichorse, isn't it? tom, i just don't think i could stand a telepathichorse-â¦." "no," boyd said hastily. "no. not at all.no horse. it's a dame. i mean a lady." he looked away from the road and flashed a glanceat malone. his eyes seemed to be pleading

for something-”understanding, possibly, malonethought. "frankly," boyd said, "i'd rather not tell you anything about her just yet.i'd rather you met her first. then you could make up your own mind. all right?" "all right," malone said wearily. "do it yourown way. how far do we have to go?" "just about an hour's drive," boyd said. "that'sall." malone slumped back in the seat and pushedhis hat over his eyes. "fine," he said. "suppose you wake me up whenwe get there." but, groggy as he was, he couldn't sleep.he wished he'd had some coffee on the plane. maybe it would have made him feel better.

then again, coffee was only coffee. true,he had never acquired his father's taste for gin (and imagined, therefore, that it wasn'thereditary, like a taste for blondes), but there was always bourbon. he thought about bourbon for a few minutes.it was a nice thought. it warmed him and made him feel a lot better. after a while, he evenfelt awake enough to do some talking. he pushed his hat back and struggled to areasonable sitting position. "i don't suppose you have a drink hidden away in the car somewhere?"he said tentatively. "or would the technicians have found that, too?" "better not have," boyd said in the same toneas before, "or i'll fire a couple 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 thickdoor of the car and extracted a bottle. it was christian brothers brandy instead of thebourbon he had been thinking about, but he discovered that he didn't mind at all. itwent down as smoothly as milk. boyd glanced at it momentarily as malone screwedthe top back on. "no," malone said in answer to the unspokenquestion. "you're driving." then he settled back again and tipped his hat forward. he didn't sleep a wink. he was perfectly sureof that. but it wasn't over two seconds later

that boyd said: "we're here, ken. wake up." "whadyamean, wakeup," malone said. "i wasn'tasleep." he thumbed his hat back and sat up rapidly. "where's 'here?'" "bayview neuropsychiatric hospital," boydsaid. "this is where dr. harman works, you know." "no," malone said. "as a matter of fact, idon't know. you didn't tell me-”remember? and who is dr. harman, anyhow?" the car was moving up a long, curving drivewaytoward a large, lawn- surrounded building. boyd spoke without looking away from the road.

"well," he said, "this dr. wilson harman isthe man who phoned us yesterday. one of my field agents was out here asking around aboutimbeciles and so on. found nothing, by the way. and then this dr. harman called, later.said he had someone here i might be interested in. so i came on out myself for a look, yesterdayafternoon-”after all, we had instructions to follow up every possible lead." "i know," malone said. "i wrote them." "oh," boyd said. "sure. well, anyhow, i talkedto this dame. lady." "and?" "and i talked to her," boyd said. "i'm notentirely sure of anything myself. but-”well,

hell. you take a look at her." he pulled the car up to a parking space, slidnonchalantly into a slot marked reserved-”executive director sutton, and slid out from under thewheel while malone got out the other side. they marched up the broad steps, through thedoorway and into the glass-fronted office of the receptionist. boyd showed her his little golden badge, andgot an appropriate gasp. "fbi," he said. "dr. harman's expecting us." the wait wasn't over fifteen seconds. boydand malone marched down the hall and around a couple of corners, and came to the doctor'soffice. the door was opaqued glass with nothing

but a room number stenciled on it. withoutceremony, boyd pushed the door open. malone followed him inside. the office was small but sunny. dr. wilsonharman sat behind a blond- wood desk, a little man with crew-cut blond hair and rimless eyeglasses,who looked about thirty-two and couldn't possibly, malone thought, have been anywhere near thatyoung. on a second look, malone noticed a better age indication in the eyes and forehead,and revised his first guess upward between ten and fifteen years. "come in, gentlemen," dr. harman called. hisvoice was that rarity, a really loud high tenor.

"dr. harman," boyd said, "this is my superior,mr. malone. we'd like to have a talk with miss thompson, if we might." "i anticipated that, sir," dr. harman said."miss thompson is in the next room. have you explained to mr. malone that-”" "i haven't explained a thing," boyd said quickly,and added in what was obviously intended to be a casual tone: "mr. malone wants to geta picture of miss thompson directly-”without any preconceptions." "i see," dr. harman said. "very well, gentlemen.through this door." he opened the door in the right-hand wallof the room, and malone took one look. it

was a long, long look. standing framed inthe doorway, dressed in the starched white of a nurse's uniform, was the most beautifulblonde he had ever seen. she had curves. she definitely had curves.as a matter of fact, malone didn't really think he had ever seen curves before. thesewere something new and different and truly three-dimensional. but it wasn't the curves,or the long straight lines of her legs, or the quiet beauty of her face, that made herso special. after all, malone had seen legs and bodies and faces before. at least, he thought he had. offhand, he couldn'tremember where. looking at the girl, malone was ready to write brand-new definitions forevery anatomical term. even a term like "hands."

malone had never seen anything especiallyarousing in the human hand before-”anyway, not when the hand was just lying around, soto speak, attached to its wrist but not doing anything in particular. but these hands, long,slender and tapering, white and cool-looking-â¦. and yet, it wasn't just the sheer physicalbeauty of the girl. she had something else, something more and something different. (somethingborrowed, malone thought in a semidelirious haze, and something blue.) personality? character?soul? whatever it was, malone decided, this girlhad it. she had enough of it to supply the entire human race, and any others that mightexist in the universe. malone smiled at the girl and she smiled back.

after seeing the smile, malone wasn't surehe could still walk evenly. somehow, though, he managed to go over to her and extend hishand. the notion that a telepath would turn out to be this mind-searing epitome had nevercrossed his mind, but now, somehow, it seemed perfectly fitting and proper. "good morning, miss thompson," he said inwhat he hoped was a winning voice. the smile disappeared. it was like the sungoing out. the vision appeared to be troubled. malonewas about to volunteer his help-”if necessary, for the next seventy years-”when she spoke. "i'm not miss thompson," she said.

"this is one of our nurses," dr. harman putin. "miss wilson, mr. malone. and mr. boyd. miss thompson, gentlemen,is over there." malone turned. there, in a corner of the room, an old ladysat. she was a small old lady, 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 her grandsons come fortea and cookies, of a sunday afternoon. she had snow-white hair that shone like acrown around her old head in the lights of the room. malone blinked at her. she didn'tdisappear. "you're miss thompson?" he said.

she smiled sweetly. "oh, my, no," she said. there was a long silence. malone looked ather. then he looked at the unbelievably beautiful miss wilson. then he looked at dr. harman.and, at last, he looked at boyd. "all right," he said. "i get it. you're missthompson." "now, wait a minute, malone," boyd began. "wait a minute?" malone said. "there are fourpeople here, not counting me. i know i'm not miss thompson. i never was, not even as achild. and dr. harman isn't, and miss wilson isn't, and whistler's great-grandmother isn't,either. so you must be. unless she isn't here. or unless she's invisible. or unless i'm crazy."

"it isn't you, malone," boyd said. "what isn'tme?" "that's crazy," boyd said. "okay," malone said. "i'm not crazy. thenwill somebody please tell me-”" the little old lady cleared her throat. asilence fell. when it was complete 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 any rate. they all do here. it's a pseudonym i have to use." "a pseudonym?" malone said. "you see, mr. malone," miss wilson began.

malone stopped her. "don't talk," he said."i have to concentrate and if you talk i can barely think." he took off his hat suddenly,and began twisting the brim in his hands. "you understand, don't you?" the trace of a smile appeared on her face."i think i do," she said. "now," malone said. "you're miss thompson,but not really, because you have to use a pseudonym." he blinked at the little old lady."why?" "well," she said, "otherwise people wouldfind out about my little secret." "your little secret," malone said. "that's right," the little old lady said."i'm immortal, you see."

malone said: "oh." then he kept quiet fora long time. it didn't seem to him that anyone in the room was breathing. he said: "oh," again, but it didn't soundany better than it had the first time. he tried another phrase. "you're immortal," hesaid. "that's right," the little old lady agreedsweetly. there was only one other question to ask,and malone set his teeth grimly and asked it. it came out just a trifle indistinct,but the little old lady nodded. "my real name?" she said. "elizabeth. elizabethtudor, of course. i used to be queen." "of england," malone said faintly. "malone,look-”" boyd began.

"let me get it all at once," malone told him."i'm strong. i can take it." he twisted his hat again and turned back to the little oldlady. "you're immortal, and you're not really missthompson, but queen elizabeth i?" he said slowly. "that's right," she said. "how clever of you.of course, after little jimmy-”cousin mary's boy, i mean-”said iwas dead and claimed the throne, i decided to change my name and all.and that's what i did. but i am elizabeth regina." she smiled, andher 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 your really think he will? because i'm sure i'll like your mr. burris, too. all ofyou fbi men are so charming. just like poor, poor essex." well, malone told himself, that was that.he'd found himself a telepath. and she wasn't an imbecile. oh, no. that would have been simple. instead, she was battier than a cathedralspire. the long silence was broken by the voice ofmiss wilson.

"mr. malone," she said. "you've been thinking."she stopped. "i mean, you've been so quiet." "i like being quiet," malone said patiently."besides-”" he stopped and turned to the little old lady. can you really read my mind?he thought deliberately. after a second he added: -⦠your majesty? "how sweet of you, mr. malone," she said."nobody's called me that for centuries. but of course i can. although it's not reading,really. after all, that would be like asking if i can read your voice. of course i can,mr. malone." "that does it," malone said. "i'm not a hardman to convince. and when i see the truth, i'm the first one to admit it, even if itmakes me look like a nut." he turned back

to the little old lady. "begging your pardon,"he said. "oh, my," the little old lady said. "i reallydon't mind at all. sticks and stones, you know, can break my bones. but being callednuts, mr. malone, can never hurt me. after all, it's been so many years-”so many hundredsof years-”" "sure," malone said easily. boyd broke in. "listen, malone," he said."do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?" "it's very simple," malone said. "miss thompsonhere-”pardon me; i mean queen elizabeth i-”really is a telepath. that's all. i think i wantto lie down somewhere until it goes away."

"until what goes away?" miss wilson said. malone stared at her almost without seeingher, if not quite. "everything," he said. he closed his eyes. "my goodness," the little old lady said aftera second. "everything's so confused. poor mr. malone is terribly shaken up by everything."she stood up, still holding her knitting, and went across the room. before the astonishedeyes of the doctor and nurse, and tom boyd, she patted the fbi agent on the shoulder."there, there, mr. malone," she said. "it will all be perfectly all right. you'll see."then she returned to her seat. malone opened his eyes. "my god," he said.he closed them again but

they flew open as if of their own accord.he turned to dr. harman. "you called up boyd here," he said, "and toldhim that-”er-”miss thompson was a telepath. how'd you know?" "it's all right," the little old lady putin from her chair. "i don't mind your calling me miss thompson, not right now, anyhow." "thanks," malone said faintly. dr. harman was blinking in a kind of befuddledastonishment. "you mean she really is a-”" he stopped and brought his tenor voice toa squeaking halt, regained his professional poise, and began again. "i'd rather not discussthe patient in her presence, mr. malone,"

he said. "if you'll just come into my office-”" "oh, bosh, dr. harman," the little old ladysaid primly. "i do wish you'd give your own queen credit for some ability. goodness knowsyou think you're smart enough." "now, now, miss thompson," he said in whatwas obviously his best grade a choice government inspected couchsidemanner. "don't-”" "-”upset yourself," she finished for him."now, really, doctor. i know what you're going to tell them." "but miss thompson, i-”" "you didn't honestly think i was a telepath,"the little old lady said. "heavens, we know

that. and you're going to tell them how iused to say i could read minds-”oh, years and years ago. and because of that you thoughtit might be worthwhile to tell the fbi about me-” which wasn't very kind of you, doctor,before you know anything about why they wanted somebody like me." "now, now, miss thompson," miss wilson said,walking across the room to put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. malone wishedfor one brief second that he were the little old lady. maybe if he were a patient in thehospital he would get the same treatment. he wondered if he could possibly work sucha deal. then he wondered if it would be worthwhile,being nuts. but of course it would. he was

nuts anyhow, wasn't he? sure, he told himself. they were all nuts. "nobody's going to hurt you," miss wilsonsaid. she was talking to the old lady. "you'll be perfectly all right and you don't haveto worry about a thing." "oh, yes, dear, i know that," the little oldlady said. "you only want to help me, dear. you're so kind. and these fbi men really don'tmean any harm. but doctor harman didn't know that. he just thinks i'm crazy and that'sall." "please, miss thompson-”" dr. harman began. "just crazy, that's all," the little old ladysaid. she turned away for a second and nobody

said anything. then she turned back. "do you all know whathe's thinking now?" she said. dr. harman turned a dull purple, but she ignored him. "he'swondering why i didn't take the trouble to prove all this to you years ago. and besidesthat, he's thinking about-”" "miss thompson," dr. harman said. his bedsidemanner had cracked through and his voice was harsh and strained. "please." "oh, all right," she said, a little petulantly."if you want to keep all that private." malone broke in suddenly, fascinated. "whydidn't you prove you were telepathic before now?" he said.

the little old lady smiled at him. "why, becauseyou wouldn't have believed me," she said. she dropped her knitting neatly in her lapand folded her hands over it. '"none of you wanted to believe me," she said, and sniffed.miss wilson moved nervously and she looked up. "and don't tell me it's going to be allright. i know it's going to be all right. i'm going to make sure of that." malone felt a sudden chill. but it was obvious,he told himself, that the little old lady didn't mean what she was saying. she smiledat him again, and her smile was as sweet and guileless as the smile on the face of hisvery own sainted grandmother. not that malone remembered his grandmother;she had died before he'd been born. but if

he'd had a grandmother, and if he'd rememberedher, he was sure she would have had the same sweet smile. so she couldn't have meant what she'd said.would malone's own grandmother make things difficult for him? the very idea was ridiculous. dr. harman opened his mouth, apparently changedhis mind, and shut it again. the little old lady turned to him. "were you going to ask why i bothered to proveanything to mr. malone?" she said. "of course you were, and i shall tell you. it's becausemr. malone wanted to believe me. he wants me. he needs me. i'm a telepath, and that'senough for mr. malone. isn't it?"

"gur," malone said, taken by surprise. aftera second he added: "i guess so." "you see, doctor?" the little old lady said. "but you-”" dr. harman began. "i read minds," the little old lady said."that's right, doctor. that's what makes me a telepath." malone's brain was whirling rapidly, likea distant galaxy. telepath was a nice word, he thought. how do you telepath from a road? simple. the road is paved.

malone thought that was pretty funny, buthe didn't laugh. he thought he would never laugh again. he wanted to cry, a little, buthe didn't think he'd be able to manage that either. he twisted his hat, but it didn't make himfeel any better. gradually, he became aware that the little old lady was talking to dr.harman again. "but," she said, "since it will make you feelso much better, doctor, we give you our royal permission to retire, and to speak to mr.malone alone." "malone alone," dr. harman muttered. "hmm.my. well." he turned and seemed to be surprised that malone was actually standing near him."yes," he said. "well. mr. alone-”mr. malone-”please,

whoever you are, just come into my office,please?" malone looked at the little old lady. oneof her eyes closed and opened. it was an unmistakable wink. malone grinned at her in what he hoped wasa cheerful manner. "all right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." he turned withthe barest trace of regret, and boyd followed leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately,the startling miss wilson, behind, the procession filed backinto dr. harman's office. the doctor closed the door, and leaned againstit for a second. he looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the worldwas square. but when he spoke his voice was

almost even. "sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicatedchairs. "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 into my mind, orwhatever it is." "whatever what is?" malone asked, sincerelyinterested. he had dropped gratefully into a chair near boyd's, across the desk fromdr. harman. "whatever my mind is," dr. harmon said. "readingit. oh, my." "dr. harman," malone began, but the psychiatristgave him a bright blank stare. "don't you understand?" he said. "she's atelepath."

"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 andrewj. burris," it said. "is kenneth j. malone there?" "mr. malone?" the psychiatrist said. "i mean,mr. burris? mr. malone is here. yes. oh, my. do you want to talk to him?" "no, you idiot," the voice said. "i just wantto know if he's all tucked in."

"tucked in?" dr. harman gave the phone a suddensmile. "a joke," he said. "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 of the patients?" dr. harman gulped, got mad, and thought betterof it. at last he said, very gently; "i'm not at all sure," and handed the phone tomalone. the fbi agent said: "hello, chief. thingsare a little confused." burris' face appeared on the screen. "confused,sure," he said. "i feel confused already." he took a breath. "i called the san franciscooffice, 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 reporton another one-”maybe. besides yours, i mean." "i hope the one you've got is in better shapethan the one i've got," malone said. he took a deep breath, and thenspat it all out at once: "the one we've found is a little old lady.she thinks she's queen

elizabeth i. she's a telepath, sure, but she'snuts." "queen elizabeth?" burris said. "of england?" "that's right," malone said. he held his breath. "damn it," burris exploded, "they've alreadygot one!" malone sighed. "this is another one," he said."or, rather, the original one. she also claims she's immortal." "lives forever?" burris said. "you mean likethat?" "immortal," malone said. "right." burris nodded. then he looked worried. "tellme, malone," he said.

"she isn't, is she?" "isn't immortal, you mean?" malone said. burrisnodded. malone said confidently: "of course not." there was a little pause. malone thought thingsover. hell, maybe she was immortal. stranger thingshad happened, hadn't they? he looked over at dr. harman. "how about that?"he said. "could she be immortal?" the psychiatrist shook his head decisively."she's been here for over forty years, mr. malone, ever since her late teens. her recordsshow all that, and her birth certificate is in perfect order. not a chance."

malone sighed and turned back to the phone."of course she isn't immortal, chief," he said. "she couldn't be. nobody is. just anut." "i was afraid of that," burris said. "afraid?"malone said. burris nodded. "we've got another one, oranyhow we think we have," he said. "if he checks out, that is. right here in washington." "not at-”rice pavilion?" malone asked. "no," burris said absently. "st. elizabeths." malone sighed. "another nut?" "strait-jacket case," burris said. "delusionsof persecution, they tell me, and paranoia,

and a whole lot of other things that soundnasty as hell. i can't pronounce any of them, and that's always a bad sign." "can he talk?" malone said. "who knows?" burris told him, and shrugged."i'm sending him on out to yucca flats anyhow, under guard. you mightfind a use for him." "oh, sure," malone said. "we can use him asa horrible example. suppose he can't talk, or do anything? supposehe turns violent? suppose-”" "we can't afford to overlook a thing," burrissaid, looking stern.

once again, malone sighed deeply. "i know,"he said. "but all the same-”" "don't worry about a thing, malone," burrissaid with a palpably false air of confidence. "everything is going to be perfectly all right."he looked like a man trying very hard to sell the brooklyn bridge to a born new yorker."you get this queen elizabeth of yours out of there and take her to yucca flats, too,"he added. malone considered the possibilities that wereopening up. maybe, after all, they were going to find more telepaths. and maybe all thetelepaths would be nuts. when he thought about it, that didn't seem at all unlikely. he imaginedhimself with a talent nobody would believe he had.

a thing like that, he told himself glumly,could drive you buggy in short order-”and then where were you? in a loony bin, that's where you were. or, possibly, in yucca flats. malone picturedthe scene: there they would be, just one big happy family. kenneth j. malone, and a conventionof bats straight out of the nation's foremost loony bins. fun! malone began to wonder why he had gone intofbi work in the first place. "listen, chief," he said. "i-”"

"sure, i understand," burris said quickly."she's batty. and this new one is batty, too. but what else can we do? malone, don't doanything you'll regret." "regret?" malone said. "like what?" "i mean, don't resign." "chief, how did you know-”you're not telepathictoo, are you?" "of course not," burris said. "but that'swhat i'd do in your place." "well-”" "remember, malone," burris said. his facetook on a stern, stuffed expression. "do not ask what your country can do for you," hequoted the youngest living ex-president. "ask

rather what you can do for your country." "sure," malone said sadly. "well, it's true, isn't it?" burris asked. "what if it is?" malone said. "it's stillterrible. everything is terrible. look at the situation." "i am looking," burris said. "and it's anothernew frontier. just like it was when president kennedy first said those words." "a new frontier inhabited entirely by maniacs,"malone said. "perfectly wonderful. what a way to run aworld."

"that," burris said, "is the way the ballbounces. or whatever you're supposed to say. malone, don't think you haven't got my sympathy.you have. i know how hard the job is you're doing." "you couldn't," malone told him bitterly. "well, anyhow," burris went on, "don't resign.stay on the job. don't give it up, malone. don't desert the ship. i want you to promiseme you won't do it." "look, chief," malone said. "these nuts-”" "malone, you've done a wonderful job so far,"burris said. "you'll get a raise and a better job when all this is over. who else wouldhave thought of looking in the twitch-bins

for telepaths? but you did, malone, and i'mproud of you, and you're stuck with it. we've got to use them now. we have to find thatspy!" he took a breath. "on to yucca flats!" he said. malone gave up. "yes, sir," he said. "anythingelse?" "not right now," burris said. "if there is,i'll let you know." malone hung up unhappily as the image vanished.he looked across at dr. harman. "well," he said, "that's that. what do i have to do toget a release for miss thompson?" harman stared at him. "but, mr. malone," hesaid, "that just isn't possible. really. miss thompson is a ward of the state, and we couldn'tpossibly allow her release without a court

order." malone thought that over. "okay," he saidat last. "i can see that." he turned to boyd. "here's a job for you, tom," he said. "getone of the judges on the phone. you'll know which one will do us the most good, fastest." "mmm," boyd said. "say judge dunning," hesaid. "good man. fast worker." "i don't care who," malone said. "just getgoing, and get us a release for miss thompson." he turned back to the doctor. "by the way,"he said. "has she got any other name? besides elizabeth tudor, i mean," he added hurriedly. "her full name," dr. harman said, "is rosewalker thompson. she is not

queen elizabeth i, ii or xxviii, and she isnot immortal." "but she is," malone pointed out, "a telepath.and that's why i want her." "she may," dr. harman said, "be a telepath."it was obvious that he had partly managed to forget the disturbing incidents that hadhappened a few minutes before. "i don't even want to discuss that part of it." "okay, never mind it," malone said agreeably."tom, get us a court order for rose walker thompson. effective yesterday-”day before,if possible." boyd nodded, but before he could get to thephone dr. harman spoke again. "now, wait a moment, gentlemen," he said."court order or no court order, miss thompson

is definitely not a well woman, and i can'tsee my way clear to-”" "i'm not well myself," malone said. "i needsleep and i probably have a cold. but i've got to work for the national security, and-”" "this is important," boyd put in. "i don't dispute that," dr. harman said. "nevertheless,i-”" the door that led into the other room burstsuddenly open. the three men turned to stare at miss wilson, who stood in the doorway fora long second and then stepped into the office, closing the door quietly behind her. "i'm sorry to interrupt," she said.

"not at all," malone said. "it's a pleasureto have you. come again soon." he smiled at her. she didn't smile back. "doctor," she said,"you'd really better talk to miss thompson. i'm not at all sure what i can do. it's somethingnew." "new?" he said. the worry lines on his facewere increasing, but he spoke softly. "the poor dear thinks she's going to get outof the hospital now," miss wilson said. "for some reason, she's convinced that the fbiis going to get her released, and-”" as she saw the expression on three faces,she stopped. "what's wrong?" she said.

"miss wilson," malone said, "we-”may i callyou by your first name?" "of course, mr. malone," she said. there wasa little silence. "miss wilson," malone said, "what is yourfirst name?" she smiled now, very gently. malone wantedto walk through mountains, or climb fire. he felt confused, but wonderful. "barbara,"she said. "lovely," he said. "well, barbara-”and pleasecall me ken. it's short for kenneth." the smile on her face broadened. "i thoughtit might be," she said. "well," malone said softly, "it is. kenneth.that's my name. and you're barbara." boyd cleared his throat.

"ah," malone said. "yes. of course. well,barbara-”well, that's just what we intend to do. take miss thompson away. we need her-”badly." dr. harman had said nothing at all, and hadbarely moved. he was staring at a point on his desk. "she couldn't possibly have heardus," he muttered. "that's a soundproof door. she couldn't have heard us." "but you can't take miss thompson away," misswilson said. "we have to, barbara," malone said gently."try to understand. it's for the national security." "she heard us thinking," dr. harman muttered."that's what; she heard us thinking. behind

a soundproof door. she can see inside theirminds. she can even see inside my mind." "she's a sick woman," barbara said. "but youhave to understand-”" "vital necessity," boyd put in. "absolutelyvital." "nevertheless-”" barbara said. "she can readminds," dr. harman whispered in an awed tone. "she knows. everything. she knows." "it's out of the question," barbara said."whether you like it or not, miss thompson is not going to leave this hospital. why,what could she do outside these walls? she hasn't left in over forty years! and furthermore,mr. malone-”" "kenneth," malone put in, as the door openedagain. "i mean ken."

the little old lady put her haloed head intothe room. "now, now, barbara," she said. "don't you go spoilingthings. just let these nice men take me away and everything will be fine,believe me. besides, i've been outside more often then you imagine." "outside?" barbara said. "of course," the little old lady said. "inother people's minds. even yours. i remember that nice young man-”what was his name?-”" "never mind his name," barbara said, flushingfuriously. malone felt instantly jealous of every niceyoung man he had ever even heard of. he wasn't

a nice young man; he was an fbi agent, andhe liked to get drunk and smoke cigars and carouse with loose women. anyway, reasonablyloose women. all nice young men, he decided, should beturned into ugly old men as soon as possible. that'll fix them! he noticed the little old lady smiling athim, and tried to change his thoughts rapidly. but the little old lady said nothing at all. "at any rate," barbara said, "i'm afraid thatwe just can't-”" dr. harman cleared his throat imperiously.it was a most impressive noise, and everyone turned to look at him. his face was a littlegray, but he looked, otherwise, like a rather

pudgy, blond, crew-cut roman emperor. "just a moment," he said with dignity. "ithink you're doing the united states of america a grave injustice, miss wilson-”and thatyou're doing an injustice to miss thompson, too." "what do you mean?" she said. "i think it would be nice for her to get awayfrom me-”i mean from here," the psychiatrist said. "where did you say you were taking her?"he asked malone. "yucca flats," malone said. "ah." the news seemed to please the psychiatrist."that's a long distance from here, isn't it?

it's quite a few hundred miles away. perhapseven a few thousand miles away. i feel sure that will be the best thing for me-”i mean,of course, for miss thompson. i shall recommend that the court so order." "doctor-”" but even barbara saw, malone couldtell, that it was no good arguing with dr. harman. she tried a last attack. "doctor,who's going to take care of her?" a light the size and shape of north americaburst in malone's mind. he almost chortled. but he managed to keep his voice under control."what she needs," he said, "is a trained psychiatric nurse." barbara wilson gave him a look that had carloadsof u235 stacked away in it, but malone barely

minded. she'd get over it, he told himself. "now, wasn't that sweet of you to think ofthat," the little old lady said. malone looked at her and was rewarded with another wink.good god, he thought. she reads minds! "i'm certainly glad you thought of barbara,"the little old lady went on. "you will go with me, won't you, dear? i'll make you aduchess. wouldn't you like to be a duchess, dear?" barbara looked from malone to the little oldlady, and then she looked at dr. harman. apparently what she saw failed to make her happy. "we'll take good care of her, barbara," malonesaid.

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 rightahead." the little old lady smiled softly withoutlooking at anybody at all. "won't it be wonderful," she whispered. "atlast i've been recognized. my country is about to pay me for my services.my loyal subjects-â¦." she stopped and wiped what malone thoughtwas a tear from one cornflower-blue eye. "now, now, miss thompson," barbara said.

"i'm not sad," the little old lady said, smilingup at her. "i'm just so very happy. i am about to get my reward, my well-deserved rewardat last, from all of my loyal subjects. you'll see." she paused and malone felt a faint stirringof stark, chill fear. "won't it be wonderful?" said the little oldlady. chapter 4 "you're where?" andrew j. burris said. malone looked at the surprised face on thescreen and wished he hadn't called. he had to report in, of course-”but, if he'd hadany sense, he'd have ordered boyd to do the job for him.

oh, well, it was too late for that now. "i'min las vegas," he said. "i tried to get you last night, but i couldn't,so i-”" "las vegas," burris said. "well, well. lasvegas." his face darkened and his voice became very loud. "why aren't you in yucca flats?"he screamed. "because she insisted on it," malone said."the old lady. miss thompson. she says there's another telepathhere." burris closed his eyes. "well, that's a relief,"he said at last. "somebody in one of the gambling houses, i suppose. fine, malone." he wentright on without a pause: "the boys have uncovered two more in various parts of the nation. notone of them is even close to sane." he opened

his eyes. "where's this one?" he said. malone sighed. "in the looney bin," he said. burris' eyes closed again. malone waited insilence. at last burris said: "all right. get him out." "right," malone said. "tell me," burris said. "why did miss thompsoninsist that you go to las vegas? somebody else could have done thejob. you could have sent boyd, couldn't you?" "chief," malone said slowly, "what sort ofmental condition are those other telepaths

in?" "pretty bad," burris said. "as a matter offact, very bad. miss thompson may be off her trolley, but the others haven't even got anytracks." he paused. "what's that got to do with it?" he said. "well," malone said, "i figured we'd betterhandle miss thompson with kid gloves-”at least until we find a better telepath to workwith." he didn't mention barbara wilson. the chief, he told himself, didn't want to bebothered with details. "doggone right you'd better," burris said."you treat that old lady as if she were the queen herself, understand?"

"don't worry," malone said unhappily. "weare." he hesitated. "she says she'll help us find our spy, all right, but we've gotto do it her way-”or else she won't cooperate." "do it her way, then," burris said. "thatspy-”" "chief, are you sure?" burris blinked. "well, then," he said, "whatis her way?" malone took a deep breath. "first," he said,"we had to come here and pick this guy up. this william logan, who's in a private sanitariumjust outside of las vegas. that's number one. miss thompson wants to get all the telepathstogether, so they can hold mental conversations or something."

"and all of them batty," burris said. "sure," malone said. "a convention of nuts-”andme in the middle. listen, chief-”" "later," burris said. "when this is over wecan all resign, or go fishing, or just plain shoot ourselves. but right now the nationalsecurity is primary, malone. remember that." "okay," malone sighed. "okay. but she wantsall the nuts here." "go along with her," burris snapped. "keepher happy. so far, malone, she's the only lead we have on the guy who's swiping informationfrom yucca flats. if she wants something, malone, you do it."

"don't interrupt me," burris said. "if shewants to be treated like a queen, you treat her like one. malone, that'san order!" "yes, sir," malone said sadly. "but, chief,she wants us to buy her some new clothes." "my god," burris exploded. "is that all? newclothes? get 'em. put 'em on the expense account. new clothes are a drop in the bucket." "well-”she thinks we need new clothes, too." "maybe you do," burris said. "put the wholething on the expense account. you don't think i'm going to quibble about a few dollars,do you?" "get the clothes. just don't bother me withdetails like this. handle the job yourself,

malone-”you're in charge out there. and getto yucca flats as soon as possible." malone gave up. "yes, sir," he said. "all right, then," burris said. "call me tomorrow.meanwhile-”good luck, malone. chin up." malone said: "yes, sir," and reached for theswitch. but burris' voice stopped him. "just one thing," he said. "yes, chief?" malone said. burris frowned. "don't spend any more forthe clothes than you have to," he said. malone nodded, and cut off. when the director's image had vanished, hegot up and went to the

window of the hotel room. outside, a hugesign told the world, and malone, that this was the thunderbird-hilton-zeckendorfhotel, but malone ignored it. he didn't need a sign;he knew where he was. in hot water, he thought. that's where hewas. behind him, the door opened. malone turnedas boyd came in. "i found a costume shop, ken," he said. "great," malone said. "the chief authorizedit." "he did?" boyd's round face fell at the news. "he said to buy her whatever she wants. hesays to treat her like a

queen." "that," boyd said, "we're doing now." "i know it," malone said. "i know it altogethertoo well." "anyhow," boyd said, brightening, "the costumeshop doesn't do us any good. they've only got cowboy stuff and bullfighters' costumesand mexican stuff-”you know, for their helldorado week here." "you didn't give up, did you?" malone said. boyd shook his head. "of course not," he said."ken: this is on the expense account, isn't it?"

"expense account," malone said. "sure it is." boyd looked relieved. "good," he said. "becausei had the proprietor phone her size in, to new york." "better get two of 'em," malone said. "thechief said anything she wanted, she was supposed to have." "i'll go back right away. i told him we wantedthe stuff on the afternoon plane, so-”" "and give him bar-”miss wilson's size, andyours, and mine. tell him to dig up something appropriate." "for us?" boyd blanched visibly. "for us,"malone said grimly.

boyd set his jaw. "no," he said. "listen, tom," malone said, "i don't likethis any better than you do. but if i can't resign, you can't either. costumesfor everybody." "but," boyd said, and stopped. after a secondhe went on: "malone-” ken-”fbi agents are supposed to be inconspicuous,aren't they?" malone nodded. "well, how inconspicuous are we going to bein this stuff?" "it's an idea," malone said. "but it isn'ta very good one. our first job is to keep miss thompson happy. and that means costumes."

boyd said: "my god." "and what's more," malone added, "from nowon she's 'your majesty.' got that?" "ken," boyd said, "you've gone nuts." malone shook his head. "no, i haven't," hesaid. "i just wish i had. it would be a relief." "me too," boyd said. he started for the doorand turned. "i wish i could have stayed in san francisco," he said. "why should she insiston taking me along?" "the beard," malone said. "my beard?" boydrecoiled.

"right," malone said. "she says it remindsher of someone she knows. frankly, it reminds me of someone, too. onlyi don't know who." boyd gulped. "i'll shave it off," he said,with the air of a man who can do no more to propitiate the gods. "you will not," malone said firmly. "touchbut a hair of yon black chin, and i'll peel off your entire skin." boyd winced. "now," malone said, "go back to that costumeshop and arrange things. here." he fished in his pockets and came out with a crumpledslip of paper and handed it to boyd. "that's

a list of my clothing sizes. get another listfrom b-”miss wilson." boyd nodded. malone thought he detected a strange glint in theother man's eye. "don't measure her yourself," he said. "just ask her." boyd scratched his bearded chin and noddedslowly. "all right, ken," he said. "but if we just don't get anywhere, don't blame me." "if you get anywhere," malone said, "i'llsnatch you baldheaded. and i'll leave the beard." "i didn't mean with miss wilson, ken," boydsaid. "i meant in general." he left, with the air of a man whose world has betrayedhim. his back looked, 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 remindme of? who do i know who knows miss thompson? and what difference does it make? nevertheless, he told himself, boyd's beard(beard's boyd?) was really an admirable fact of nature. ever since beards had become popularagain in the mid-sixties, and fbi agents had been permitted to wear them, malone had thoughtabout growing one. but, somehow, it didn't seem right. now, looking at boyd, he began to think aboutthe prospect again.

he shrugged the notion away. there were thingsto do. he picked up the phone and called information. "can you give me," he said, "the number ofthe desert edge sanatorium?" the crimson blob of the setting sun was alreadypainting the desert sky with its customary purples and oranges by the time the littlecaravan arrived at the desert edge sanatorium, a square white building several miles outof las vegas. malone, in the first car, wondered briefly about the kind of patients they cateredto. people driven mad by vingt-et-un or poker-dice? neurotic chorus ponies? gambling czars withdelusions of non-persecution?

sitting in the front seat next to boyd, hewatched the unhappy san francisco agent manipulating the wheel. inthe back seat, queen elizabeth thompson and lady barbara, the nurse,were located, and her majesty was chattering away like a magpie. malone eyed the rearview mirror to get a lookat the car following them and 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 convenesand recognizes me," she was saying, "i shall confer personages on allof you. right now, the best

i could do was to knight you all, and of coursethat's hardly enough. but i think i shall make sir kenneth the dukeof columbia." sir kenneth, malone realized, was himself.he wondered how he'd like being duke of columbia-”and wouldn't the president be surprised! "and sir thomas," the queen continued, "willbe the duke of-”what? sir thomas?" "yes, your majesty?" boyd said, trying tosound both eager and properly respectful. "what would you like to be duke of?" she said. "oh," boyd said after a second's thought,"anything that pleases your

majesty." but apparently, his thoughts gavehim away. "you're from upstate new york?" the queensaid. "how very nice. then you must be made the duke of poughkeepsie." "thank you, your majesty," boyd said. malonethought he detected a note of pride in the man's voice, and shot a glance at boyd, butthe agent was driving with a serene face and an economy of motion. duke of poughkeepsie! malone thought. hah! he leaned back and adjusted his fur-trimmedcoat. the plume that fell from his cap kept tickling his neck, and he brushed at it withoutsuccess.

all four of the inhabitants of the car weredressed in late sixteenth century costumes, complete with ruffs and velvet and lace filigree.her majesty and lady barbara were wearing the full skirts and small skullcaps of theera (and on barbara, malone thought privately, the low-cut gowns didn't look at all disappointing),and sir thomas and malone (sir kenneth, he thought sourly) were clad in doublet, hoseand long coats with fur trim and slashed sleeves. and all of them were loaded down, weighteddown, staggeringly, with gems. naturally, the gems were fake. but then, malonethought, the queen was mad. it all balanced out in the end. as they approached the sanitarium, malonebreathed a thankful prayer that he'd called

up to tell the head physician how they'd allbe dressed. if he hadn't-â¦. he didn't want to think about that. he didn't even want to pass it by hurriedlyon a dark night. the head physician, dr. frederic dowson, waswaiting for them on the steps of the building. he was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking manwith almost no hair and very deep-sunken eyes. he had the kind of face that a gushing femalewould probably describe, malone thought, as "craggy," but it didn't look in the leastattractive to malone. instead, it looked tough and forbidding. he didn't turn a hair as the magnificentlyrobed boyd slid from the front seat, opened

the rear door, doffed his plumed hat, andin one low sweep made a great bow. "we are here, your majesty," boyd said. her majesty got out, clutching at her voluminousskirts in a worried manner, to keep from catching them on the door-jamb. "you know, sir thomas,"she said when she was standing free of the car, "i think we must be related." "ah?" boyd said worriedly. "i'm certain of it, in fact," her majestywent on. "you look just exactly like my poor father. just exactly. i dare say you comefrom one of the sinister branches of the family. perhaps you are a half- brother of mine-”removed,of course."

malone grinned, and tried to hide the expression.boyd was looking puzzled, then distantly angered. nobody had ever called him illegitimate injust that way before. but her majesty was absolutely right, malonethought. the agent had always reminded him of someone, and now, at last, he knew exactlywho. the hair hadn't been black, either, but red. boyd was, in elizabethan costume, the deadestof dead ringers for henry viii. malone went up the steps to where dr. dowsonwas standing. "i'm malone," he said, checking a tendencyto bow. "i called earlier today. is this william

logan of yours ready to go? we can take himback with us in the second car." dr. dowson compressed his lips and lookedworried. "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 hospitaloffice, the two local agents following up the rear. since they were not a part of hermajesty's personal retinue, they had not been required to wear court costumes. in a way,malone was beginning to feel sorry for them. he himself cut a nice figure in the outfit,he thought-”rather like errol flynn in the old black-and-white print of the prince andthe pauper. but there was no denying that the processionlooked strange. file clerks and receptionists

stopped their work to gape at the four bedizenedwalkers and their plainly dressed satellites. malone needed no telepathic talent to tellwhat they were thinking. "a whole roundup of nuts," they were thinking."and those two fellows in the back must be bringing them in-”along with dr. dowson." malone straightened his spine. really, hedidn't see why elizabethan costumes had ever gone out of style. elizabeth was back, wasn'tshe-” either elizabeth ii, on the throne, or elizabeth i, right behind him. either wayyou looked at it-â¦. when they were all inside the waiting room,dr. dowson said: "now, mr. malone, just what is all this about?" he rubbed his long handstogether. "i fail to see the humor of the

situation." "humor?" malone said. "doctor," barbara wilson began, "let me explain.you see-”" "these ridiculous costumes," dr. dowson said,waving a hand at them. "you may feel that poking fun at insanity is humorous, mr. malone,but let me tell you-”" "it wasn't like that at all," boyd said. "and," dr. dowson continued in a somewhatlouder voice, "wanting to take mr. logan away from us. mr. logan is a very sick man, mr.malone. he should be properly cared for." "i promise we'll take good care of him," malonesaid earnestly. the elizabethan clothes were

fine outdoors, but in a heated room one hada tendency to sweat. "i take leave to doubt that," dr. dowson said,eyeing their costumes pointedly. "miss wilson here," malone volunteered, "isa trained psychiatric nurse." barbara, in her gown, stepped forward. "dr.dowson," she said, "let me assure you that these costumes have their purpose. we-”" "not only that," malone said. "there are agroup of trained men from st. elizabeths hospital in washington who are going to take the bestof care of him." he said nothing whatever about yucca flats, or about telepathy. why spread around information unnecessarily?

"but i don't understand," dr. dowson said."what interest could the fbi have in an insane man?" "that's none of your business," malone said.he reached inside his fur-trimmed robe and, again suppressing a tendency to bow deeply,withdrew an impressive-looking legal document. "this," he said, "is a court order, instructingyou to hand over to us the person of one william logan, herein identified and described." hewaved it at the doctor. "that's your william logan," he said, "onlynow he's ours." dr. dowson took the papers and put in sometime frowning at them. then he looked up again at malone. "i assume that i have some discretionin this matter," he said. "and i wonder if

you realize just how ill mr. logan is? wehave his case histories here, and we have worked with him for some time." barbara wilson said: "but-”" "i might say that we are beginning to understandhis illness," dr. dowson said. "i honestly don't think it would be proper to transferthis work to another group of therapists. it might set his illness back-”cause, asit were, a relapse. all our work could easily be nullified." "please, doctor," barbara wilson began. "i'm afraid the court order's got to stand,"malone said. privately, he felt sorry for

dr. dowson, who was, obviously enough, a conscientiousman trying to do the best he could for his patient. but- "i'm sorry, dr. dowson," he said. "we'll expectthat you send all of your data to the government psychiatrists-”and, naturally, any concernfor the patient's welfare will be our concern also. the fbi isn't anxious for its workersto get the reputation of careless men." he paused, wondering what other bone he couldthrow the man. "i have no doubt that the st. elizabeth's men will be happy to accept yourcooperation," he said at last. "but, i'm afraid that our duty is clear. william logan goeswith us." dr. dowson looked at them sourly. "does hehave to get dressed up like a masquerade,

too?" before malone could answer, the psychiatristadded: "anyhow, i don't even know you're fbi men. after all, why should i comply with ordersfrom a group of men, dressed insanely, whom i don't even know?" malone didn't say anything. he just got upand walked to a phone on a small table, near the wall. next to it was a door, and malonewondered uncomfortably what was behind it. maybe dr. dowson had a small arsenal there,to protect his patients and prevent people from pirating them. he looked back at the set and dialed burris'private number in washington. when the director's face appeared on the screen, malone said:"mr. burris, will you please identify me to

dr. dowson?" he looked over at dowson. "yourecognize mr. andrew j. burris, i suppose?" dowson nodded. his grim face showed a faintshock. he walked to the phone, and malone stepped back to let him talk with burris. "my name is dowson," he said. "i'm psychiatricdirector here at desert edge sanatorium. and your men-”" "my men have orders to take william loganfrom your care," burris said. "that's right," dowson said. "but-”" while they were talking, queen elizabeth isidled quietly up to malone and tapped him on the shoulder.

"sir kenneth," she whispered in the faintestof voices, "i know where your telepathic spy is. and i know who he is." "who?" malone said. "what? why? where?" heblinked and whirled. it couldn't be true. they couldn't solve the case so easily. but the queen's face was full of a majesticassurance. "he's right there," she said, and she pointed. malone followed her finger. it was aimed directly at the glowing imageof andrew j. burris, director of the fbi.

chapter 5 malone opened his mouth, but nothing cameout. not even air. he wasn't breathing. he stared at burris for a long moment, thentook a breath and looked again at her majesty. "the spy?" he whispered. "that's right," she said. "but that's-”" he had to fight for control."that's the head of the fbi," he managed to say. "do you mean to sayhe's a spy?" burris was saying: "-⦠i'm afraid this isa matter of importance, dr. dowson. we cannot

tolerate delay. you have the court order.obey it." "very well, mr. burris," dowson said withan obvious lack of grace. "i'll release him to mr. malone immediately,since you insist." malone stared, fascinated. then he turnedback to the little old lady. "do you mean to tell me," he said, "that andrew j. burrisis a telepathic spy?" "oh, dear me," her majesty said, obviouslyaghast. "my goodness gracious. is that mr. burris on the screen?" "it is," malone assured her. a look out ofthe corner of his eye told him that neither burris, in washington, nor dowson or any othersin the room, had heard any of the conversation.

malone lowered his whisper some more, justin case. "that's the head of the fbi," he said. "well, then," her majesty said, "mr. burriscouldn't possibly be a spy, then, could he? not if he's the headof the fbi. of course not. mr. burris simply isn't a spy. he isn't thetype. forget all about mr. burris." "i can't," malone said at random. "i workfor 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 mostregal tones. "do you doubt the word of your

sovereign?" "not exactly," malone said. truthfully, hewasn't at all sure. not at all. but why tell that to the queen? "shame on you," she said. "you shouldn't eventhink such things. after all, i am the queen, aren't i?" but there was a sweet, gentle smileon her face when she spoke; she didn't 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 enoughdelay as it is."

"yes, sir," malone said. "right away, sir.anything else?" "that's all," burris said. "good night." thescreen blanked. "all right, doctor," boyd said. he lookedevery inch a king, and malone knew exactly what king. "bring himout." dr. dowson heaved a great sigh. "very well,"he said heavily. "but i want it known that i resent this highhanded treatment, and ishall write a letter complaining of it." he pressed a button on an instrument panel inhis desk. "bring mr. logan in," he said. malone wasn't in the least worried about theletter. burris, he knew, would take care of anything like that. and, besides, he had otherthings to think about.

the door to the next room had opened almostimmediately, and two husky, white-clad men were bringing in a strait-jacketed figurewhose arms were wrapped against his chest, while the jacket's extra-long sleeves weretied behind his back. he walked where the attendants led him, but his eyes weren't lookingat anything in the room. they stared at something far away and invisible, an impalpable shiftingnothingness somewhere in the infinite distances beyond the world. for the first time, malone felt the chillof panic. here, he thought, was insanity of a very real and frightening kind. queen elizabeththompson was one thing-”and she was almost funny, and likeable, after all. but williamlogan was something else, and something that

sent a wave of cold shivering into the room. what made it worse was that logan wasn't aman, but a boy, barely nineteen. malone had known that, of course-”but seeing it wassomething different. the lanky, awkward figure wrapped in a hospital strait-jacket was horrible,and the smooth, unconcerned face was, somehow, worse. there was no threat in that face, noterror or anger or fear. it was merely-”a blank. it was not a human face. its complete lackof emotion or expression could have belonged to a sleeping child of ten-”or to a memberof a different race. malone looked at the boy, and looked away.

was it possible that logan knew what he wasthinking? answer me, he thought, directly at the stillboy. there was no reply, none at all. malone forcedhimself to look away. but the air in the room seemed to have becomemuch colder. the attendants stood on either side of him,waiting. for one long second no one moved, and then dr. dowson reached into his deskdrawer and produced a sheaf of papers. "if you'll sign these for the government,"he said, "you may have mr. logan. there seems little else that i can do, mr. malone-”inspite of my earnest pleas-”" "i'm sorry," malone said. after all, he neededlogan, didn't he? after a look at the boy,

he wasn't sure any more-”but the queen hadsaid she wanted him, and the queen's word was law. or what passed for law, anyhow, atleast for the moment. malone took the papers and looked them over.there was nothing special about them; they were merely standard release forms, absolvingthe staff and management of desert edge sanatorium from every conceivable responsibility underany conceivable circumstances, as far as william logan was concerned. dr. dowson gave malonea look that said: "very well, 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 to say, but dr.dowson's dark and sunken eyes got the message across with no loss in transmission. as amatter of fact, there seemed to be more coming-”a

much less printable message was apparentlyon the way through those glittering, sad and angry eyes. malone avoided them nervously, and went overthe papers again instead. at last he signed them and handed them back. "thanks for yourcooperation, dr. dowson," he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of a traitor. "not at all," dowson said bitterly. "mr. loganis now in your custody. i must trust you to take good care of him." "the best care we can," malone said. it didn'tseem sufficient. he added: "the best possible care, doctor," and tried to look dependableand trustworthy, like a boy scout. he was

aware that the effort failed miserably. at his signal, the two plainclothes fbi mentook over from the attendants. they marched logan out to their car, and malone led theprocession back to boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted (in order) of sir kenneth malone,prospective duke of columbia, queen elizabeth i, lady barbara, prospective duchess of anunspecified county, and sir thomas boyd, prospective duke of poughkeepsie. malone hummed a littleof the first pomp and circumstance march as they walked; somehow, he thought it was calledfor. they piled into the car, boyd at the wheelwith malone next to him, and the two ladies in back, with queen elizabeth sitting directlybehind sir thomas. boyd started the engine

and they turned and roared off. "well," said her majesty with an air of greatcomplacence, "that's that. that makes six of us." malone looked around the car. he counted thepeople. there were four. he said, puzzled: "six?" "that's right, sir kenneth," her majesty said."you have it exactly. six." "you mean six telepaths?" sir thomas askedin a deferent tone of voice. "certainly i do," her majesty replied. "wetelepaths, you know, must stick together.

that's the reason i got poor little willieout of that sanatorium of his, you know-”and, of course, the others will be joining us." "don't you think it's time for your nap, dear?"lady barbara put in suddenly. "my what?" it was obvious that queen elizabethwas 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 nota child. i am your sovereign. do try to have a little respect. why, i remember when shakespeareused to say to me-”but that's no matter,

not now." "about those telepaths-”" boyd began. "telepaths," her majesty said. "ah, yes. wemust all stick together. in the hospital, you know, we had a littlejoke-”the patients for insulin shock therapy used to say: 'if wedon't stick together, we'll all be stuck separately.' do you see, sirthomas?" "but," sir kenneth malone said, trying desperatelyto return to the point. "six?" he had counted them up in his mind. burris had mentionedone found in st. elizabeths, and two more picked up later. with queen elizabeth, andnow william logan, that made five.

unless the queen was counting him in. theredidn't seem any good reason why not. "oh, no," her majesty said with a little trillof laughter, "not you, sir kenneth. i meant mr. miles." sir thomas boyd asked: "mr. miles?" "that's right," her majesty said. "his nameis barry miles, and your fbi men found him an hour ago in new orleans.they're bringing him to yucca flats to meet the rest of us; isn'tthat nice?" lady barbara cleared her throat. "it really isn't necessary for you to tryto get my attention, dear," the queen said.

"after all, i do know what you're thinking." lady barbara blinked. "i still want to suggest,respectfully, about that nap-”" she began. "my dear girl," the queen said, with the faintesttrace 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 you i don't wanta nap. it isn't polite to be insistent to your queen-”no matter how strongly you feelabout a matter. i'm sure you'll learn to understand that, dear." lady barbara opened her mouth, shut it again,and opened it once more. "my goodness," she said.

"that's the idea," her majesty said approvingly."think before you speak-”and then don't speak. it really isn't necessary, since i know whatyou're thinking." malone said grimly: "about this new telepath-”thisbarry miles. did they find him-”" "in a nut-house?" her majesty said sweetly."why, of course, sir kenneth. you were quite right when you thought that telepaths wentinsane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, and because no one believedthem. how would you feel, if nobody believed you could see?" "strange," malone admitted. "there," her majesty said. "you see? telepathsdo go insane-”it's sort of an occupational

disease. of course, not all of them are insane." "not all of them?" malone felt the faint stirringsof hope. perhaps they would turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational. "there's me, of course," her majesty said. lady barbara gulped audibly. boyd said nothing,but gripped the wheel of the car more tightly. and malone thought to himself: that's right.there's queen elizabeth-”who says she isn't crazy. and then he thought of one more sane telepath.but the knowledge didn't make him feel any better.

it was, of course, the spy. how many more are going to turn up? malonewondered. "oh, that's about all of us," the queen said."there is one more, but she's in a hospital in honolulu, and your men won't find her untiltomorrow." boyd turned. "do you mean you can foretellthe future, too?" he asked in a strained voice. lady barbara screamed: "keep your eyes onthe wheel and your hands on the road!" "what?" boyd said. there was a terrific blast of noise, and atruck went by in the opposite direction. the driver, a big, ugly man with no hair on hishead, leaned out 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. andit was due entirely to the mercy of god that we didn't hit it. barbara's right. keep youreyes on the wheel and your hands on the road." he paused and thought that over. then he said:"does that mean anything at all?" "lady barbara was confused by the excitement,"the queen said calmly. "it's all right now, dear." lady barbara blinked across the seat. "i was-”afraid,"she said.

"it's all right," the queen said. "i'll takecare of you." "this," malone announced to no one in particular,"is ridiculous." boyd swept the car around a curve and concentratedgrimly 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 thefuture," the queen said equably. "of course i can't. that's silly. just because i'm immortaland i'm a telepath, don't go hog-wild." "then how did you know the fbi agents weregoing to find the girl in honolulu tomorrow?" boyd said.

"because," the queen said, "they're thinkingabout looking in the hospital tomorrow, and when they look they'll certainly find her." boyd said: "oh," and was silent. but malone had a grim question. "why didn'tyou tell me about these other telepaths before?" he said. "you could have saved us a lot ofwork." "oh, heavens to betsy, sir kenneth," her majestyexclaimed. "how could i? after all, the proper precautions had tobe taken first, didn't they? i told you all the others were crazy-”reallycrazy, i mean. and they just wouldn't be safe without theproper precautions."

"perhaps you ought to go back to the hospital,too," barbara said, and added: "your majesty," just in time. "but if i did, dear," her majesty said, "you'dlose your chance to become a duchess, and that wouldn't be at all nice. besides, i'mhaving so much fun!" she trilled a laugh again. "riding around like this is just wonderful!"she said. and you're important for national security,malone said to himself. "that's right, sir kenneth," the queen said."the country needs me, and i'm happy to serve. that is the job of a sovereign." "fine," malone said, hoping it was.

"well, then," said her majesty, "that settlesthat. we have a whole night ahead of us, sir kenneth. what do you say we make a night ofit?" "knight who?" malone said. he felt confusedagain. it seemed as if he was always feeling confused lately. "don't be silly, sir kenneth," her majestysaid. "there are times and times." "sure," malone said at random. and time anda half, he thought. possibly for overtime. "what is your majesty thinking of?" he askedwith trepidation. "i want to take a tour of las vegas," hermajesty said primly. lady barbara shook her head. "i'm afraid that'snot possible, your

majesty," she said. "and why not, pray?" her majesty said. "no.i can see what you're thinking. it's not safe to let me go wandering around in a strangecity, and particularly if that city is las vegas. well, dear, i can assure you that it'sperfectly safe." "we've got work to do," boyd contributed. malone said nothing. he stared bleakly atthe 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 answeredlady barbara only by a slight lift of her regal eyebrow. malone had been thinking about something else.when he was sure he had a firm grip on himself he turned. "your majesty, tell me something,"he said. "you can read my mind, right?" "well, of course, sir kenneth," her majestysaid. "i thought i'd proved that to you. and, as for what you're about to ask-”" "no," malone said. "please. let me ask thequestions before you answer them. it's less confusing that way. i'll cheerfully admitthat it shouldn't be-”but it is. please?" "certainly, sir kenneth, if you wish," thequeen said. she folded her hands in her lap

and waited quietly. "okay," malone said. "now, if you can readmy mind, then you must know that i don't really believe that you are queen elizabeth of england.the first, i mean." "mr. malone," barbara wilson said suddenly."i-”" "it's all right, child," the queen said. "hedoesn't disturb me. and i do wish you'd call him sir kenneth. that's his title, you know." "now that's what i mean," malone said. "whydo you want us to act as if we believe you, when you know we don't?" "because that's the way people do act," thequeen said calmly. "very few people really

believe that their so-called superiors aresuperior. almost none of them do, in fact." "now wait a minute," boyd began. "no, no, it's quite true," the queen said,"and, unpleasant as it may be, we must learn to face the truth. that's the path of sanity."lady barbara made a strangled noise but her majesty continued, unruffled. "nearly everybodysuffers from the silly delusion that he's possibly equal to, but very probably superiorto, everybody else-”my goodness, where would we be if that were true?" malone felt that a comment was called for,and he made one. "who knows?" he said. "all the things people do toward their superiors,"the queen said, "are done for social reasons.

for instance, sir kenneth: you don't realizefully how you feel about mr. burris." "he's a hell of a fine guy," malone said."i work for him. he's a good director of the fbi." "of course," the queen said. "but you believeyou could do the job just as well, or perhaps a little better." "i do not," malone said angrily. her majesty reserved a dignified silence. after a while malone said: "and what if ido?" "why, nothing," her majesty said. "you don'tthink mr. burris is any smarter or better

than you are-”but you treat him as if youdid. all i am insisting on is the same treatment." "but if we don't believe-”" boyd began. "bless you," her majesty said, "i can't helpthe way you think, but, as queen, i do have some control over the way you act." malone thought it over. "you have a pointthere," he said at last. barbara said: "but-”" "yes, sir kenneth," the queen said, "i do."she seemed to be ignoring lady barbara. perhaps, malone thought, she was still angry over thenap affair. "it's not that," the queen said. "not what?" boyd said, thoroughly confused.

"not the naps," the queen said. "what naps?" boyd said. malone said: "i wasthinking-”" "good," boyd said. "keep it up. i'm driving.everything's going to hell around me, but i'm driving." a red light appeared ahead. boyd jammed onthe brakes with somewhat more than the necessary force, and malone was thrown forward witha 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 canunderstand your concern for lady barbara." she smiled at malone as heturned. malone gaped at her. of course she knew whathe thought about barbara; she'd been reading his mind. and, apparently, she was on hisside. that was good, even though it made him slightly nervous to think about. "now," the queen said suddenly, "what abouttonight?" "tonight?" "yes, of course," the queen said. she smiled,and put up a hand to pat at her white hair under the elizabethan skullcap. "i think ishould like to go to the palace," she said.

"after all, isn't that where a queen shouldbe?" boyd said, in a kind of explosion: "london?england?" "oh, dear me-â¦." the queen began, and barbarasaid: "i'm afraid that i simply can't allow anythinglike that. overseas-”" "i didn't mean overseas, dear," her majestysaid. "sir kenneth, please explain to these people." the palace, malone knew, was more properlyknown as the golden palace. it was right in las vegas-”convenient toall sources of money. as a matter of fact, it was one of the biggestgambling houses along the las vegas strip,

a veritable chaos of wheels, cards, dice,chips and other such devices. malone explained all this to the others, wondering meanwhilewhy miss thompson wanted to go there. "not miss thompson, please, sir kenneth,"her majesty said. "not miss thompson what?" boyd said. "what'sgoing on anyhow?" "she's reading my mind," malone said. "well, then," boyd snapped, "tell her to keepit to herself." the car started up again with a roar and malone and the others were thrownaround again, this time toward the back. there was a chorus of groans and squeals, and theywere on their way once more. "to reply to your question, sir kenneth,"the queen said.

lady barbara said, with some composure: "whatquestion-”your majesty?" the queen nodded regally at her. "sir kennethwas wondering why i wished to go to the golden palace," she said. "and my reply is this:it is none of your business why i want to go there. after all, is my word law, or isn'tit?" there didn't seem to be a good enough answerto that, malone thought sadly. he kept quiet and was relieved to note that the others didthe same. however, after a second he thought of something else. "your majesty," he began carefully, "we'vegot to go to yucca flats tomorrow. remember?" "certainly," the queen said. "my memory isquite good, thank you. but that is tomorrow

morning. we have the rest of the night left.it's only a little after nine, you know." "heavens," barbara said. "is it that late?" "it's even later," boyd said sourly. "it'smuch later than you think." "and it's getting later all the time," maloneadded. "pretty soon the sun will go out and all life on earth will end. won't that benice and peaceful?" "i'm looking forward to it," boyd said. "i'm not," barbara said. "but i've got toget some sleep tonight, if i'm going to be any good at all tomorrow." you're pretty good right now, malone thought,but he didn't say a word. he felt the queen's

eye on him but didn't turn around. after all,she was on his side-”wasn't she? at any rate, she didn't say anything. "perhaps it would be best," barbara said,"if you and i-”your majesty-”just went home and rested up. some other time, then, whenthere's nothing vital to do, we could-”" "no," the queen said. "we couldn't. really,lady barbara, how often will i have to remind you of the duties you owe your sovereign-”notthe least of which is obedience, as dear old ben used to say." "ben?" malone said, and immediately wishedhe hadn't. "johnson, dear boy," the queen said. "reallya remarkable man-”and such a good friend

to poor will. why, did you ever hear the storyof how he actually paid will's rent in london once upon a time? that was while will andthat anne of his were having one of their arguments, of course. i didn't tell you thatstory, did i?" "no," malone said truthfully, but his voicewas full of foreboding. "if i might remind your majesty of the subject,"he added tentatively, "i should like to say-”" "remind me of the subject!" the queen said,obviously delighted. "what a lovely pun! and how much better because purely unconscious!my, my, sir kenneth, i never suspected you of a pointed sense of humor-”could you bea descendant of sir richard greene, i wonder?"

"i doubt it," malone said. "my ancestors wereall poor but irish." he paused. "or, if you prefer, irish, but poor." another pause, andthen he added: "if that means anything at all. which i doubt." "in any case," the queen said, her eyes twinkling,"you were about to enter a new objection to our little visit to the palace, were you not?" malone admitted as much. "i really think that-”" her eyes grew suddenly cold. "if i hear anymore objections, sir kenneth, i shall not only rescind your knighthood and-”when iregain my rightful kingdom-”deny you your dukedom, but i shall refuse to cooperate anyfurther in the business of project isle."

malone turned cold. his face, he knew withoutglancing in the mirror, was white and pale. he thought of what burris would do to himif he didn't follow through on his assigned job. even if he wasn't as good as burris thoughthe was, he really liked being an fbi agent. he didn't want to be fired. and burris had said: "give her anything shewants." he gulped and tried to make his face looknormal. "all right," he said. "fine. we'll go to the palace." he tried to ignore the pall of apprehensionthat fell over the car.

chapter 6 the management of the golden palace had beenin business for many long, dreary, profitable years, and each member of the staff thoughthe or she had seen just about everything there was to be seen. and those that were new feltan obligation to look as if they'd seen everything. therefore, when the entourage of queen elizabethi strolled into the main salon, not a single eye was batted. not a single gasp was heard. nevertheless, the staff kept a discreet eyeon the crew. drunks, rich men or arabian millionaires were all familiar. but a group out of thesixteenth century was something else again. malone almost strutted, conscious of the sidelongglances the group was drawing. but it was

obvious that sir thomas was the major attraction.even if you could accept the idea of people in strange costumes, the sight of a living,breathing absolute duplicate of king henry viii was a little too much to take. it hasbeen reported that two ladies named jane, and one named catherine, came down with suddenheadaches and left the salon within five minutes of the group's arrival. malone felt he knew, however, why he wasn'tdrawing his full share of attention. he felt a little out of place. the costume was one thing, and, to tell thetruth, he was beginning to enjoy it. even with the weight of the stuff, it was goingto be a wrench to go back to single-breasted

suits and plain white shirts. but he did feelthat he should have been carrying a sword. instead, he had a .44 magnum colt snuggledbeneath his left armpit. somehow, a .44 magnum colt didn't seem asromantic as a sword. malone pictured himself saying: "take that, varlet." was varlet whatyou called them, he wondered. maybe it was valet. "take that, valet," he muttered. no, thatsounded even worse. oh, well, he could look it up later. the truth was that he had been born in thewrong century. he could imagine himself at the mermaid tavern, hob-nobbing with shakespeareand all the rest of them. he wondered if richard

greene would be there. then he wondered whorichard greene was. behind sir kenneth, sir thomas boyd strode,looking majestic, as if he were about to fling purses of gold to the citizenry. as a matterof fact, malone thought, he was. they all were. purses of good old united states of americagold. behind sir thomas came queen elizabeth andher lady-in-waiting, lady barbara wilson. they made a beautiful foursome. "the roulette table," her majesty said withdignity. "precede me." they pushed their way through the crowd. mostof the customers were either excited enough,

drunk enough, or both to see nothing in theleast incongruous about a royal family of the tudors invading the golden palace. veryfew of them, as a matter of fact, seemed to notice the group. they were roulette players. they noticed nothingbut the table and the wheel. malone wondered what they were thinking about, decided toask queen elizabeth, and then decided against it. he felt it would make him nervous to know. her majesty took a handful of chips. the handful was worth, malone knew, exactlyfive thousand dollars. that, he'd thought, ought to last them anevening, even in the golden

palace. in the center of the strip, insidethe city limits of las vegas itself, the five thousand would havelasted much longer-”but her majesty wanted the palace, and the palaceit was. malone began to smile. since he couldn't avoidthe evening, he was determined to enjoy it. it was sort of fun, in its way, indulginga sweet harmless old lady. and there was nothing they could do until the next morning, anyhow. his indulgent smile faded very suddenly. her majesty plunked the entire handful ofchips-”five thousand dollars! malone thought dazedly-”onto the table. "five thousand,"she said in clear, cool measured tones, "on

number one." the croupier blinked only slightly. he bowed."yes, your majesty," he said. malone was briefly thankful, in the midstof his black horror, that he had called the management and told them that the queen'splays were backed by the united states government. her majesty was going to get unlimited credit-”anda good deal of awed and somewhat puzzled respect. malone watched the spin begin with mixed feelings.there was five thousand dollars riding on the little ball. but, after all, her majestywas a telepath. did that mean anything? he hadn't decided by the time the wheel stopped,and by then he didn't have to decide. "thirty-four," the croupier said tonelessly."red, even and high."

he raked in the chips with a nonchalant air. malone felt as if he had swallowed his stomach.boyd and lady barbara, standing nearby, had absolutely no expressions on their faces.malone needed no telepath to tell him what they were thinking. they were exactly the same as he was. theywere incapable of thought. but her majesty never batted an eyelash. "come,sir kenneth," she said. "let's go on to the poker tables." she swept out. her entourage followed her,shambling a little, and blank-eyed. malone was still thinking about the five thousanddollars. oh, well, burris had said to give

the lady anything she wanted. but my god!he thought. did she have to play for royal stakes? "i am, after all, a queen," she whisperedback to him. malone thought about the national debt. hewondered if a million more or less would make any real difference. there would be questionsasked in committees about it. he tried to imagine himself explaining the evening toa group of congressmen. "well, you see, gentlemen, there was this roulette wheel-”" he gave it up. then he wondered how much hotter the waterwas going to get, and he stopped thinking

altogether in self-defense. in the next room, there were scattered tables.at one, a poker game was in full swing. only five were playing; one, by his white-tie-and-tails uniform, was easily recognizable as a house dealer. the other four were all men,one of them in full cowboy regalia. the tudors descended upon them with great suddenness,and the house dealer looked up and almost lost his cigarette. "we haven't any money, your majesty," malonewhispered. she smiled up at him sweetly, and then drewhim aside. "if you were a telepath," she said, "how would you play poker?"

malone thought about that for a minute, andthen turned to look for boyd. but sir thomas didn't even have to begiven instructions. "another five hundred?" he said. her majesty sniffed audibly. "another fivethousand," she said regally. boyd looked malonewards. malone looked defeated. boyd turned with a small sigh and headed forthe cashier's booth. three minutes later, he was back with a fatfistful 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 dealerhad regained control, but looked up at them with a puzzled stare. "you know," the queen said, with an obviousattempt to put the man at his ease, "i've always wanted to visit a gambling hall." "sure, lady," the dealer said. "naturally." "may i sit down?" the dealer looked at the group. "how aboutyour friends?" he said cautiously. the queen shook her head. "they would ratherwatch, i'm sure." for once malone blessed the woman's telepathictalent. he, boyd and

barbara wilson formed a kind of guard of honoraround the chair which her majesty occupied. boyd handed over thenew pile of chips, and was favored with a royal smile. "this is a poker game, ma'am," the dealersaid to her quietly. "i know, i know," her majesty said with atrace of testiness. "roll 'em." the dealer stared at her popeyed. next toher, the gentleman in the cowboy outfit turned. "ma'am, are you from around these parts?"he said. "oh, no," the queen said. "i'm from england." "england?" the cowboy looked puzzled. "youdon't seem to have any accent, ma'am," he

said at last. "certainly not," the queen said. "i've lostthat; i've been over here a great many years." malone hoped fervently that her majesty wouldn'tmention just how many years. he didn't think he could stand it, and he was almost gratefulfor the cowboy's nasal twang. "oil?" he said. "oh, no," her majesty said. "the governmentis providing this money." "the government?" "certainly," her majesty said. "the fbi, youknow." there was a long silence.

at last, the dealer said: "five-card drawyour game, ma'am?" "if you please," her majesty said. the dealer shrugged and, apparently, commendedhis soul to a gambler's god. he passed the pasteboards around the table with the airof one who will have nothing more to do with the world. her majesty picked up her hand. "the ante's ten, ma'am," the dealer said softly. without looking, her majesty removed a ten-dollarchip from the pile before her and sent it spinning to the middle of the table.

the dealer opened his mouth, but said nothing.malone, meanwhile, was peering over the queen's shoulder. she held a pair of nines, a four, a threeand a jack. the man to the left of the dealer announcedglumly: "can't open." the next man grinned. "open for twenty," hesaid. malone closed his eyes. he heard the cowboysay: "i'm in," and he opened his eyes again. the queen was pushing two ten-dollar chipstoward the center of the table. the next man dropped, and the dealer lookedround the table. "how many?" the man who couldn't open took three cards.the man who'd opened for twenty stood pat.

malone shuddered invisibly. that, he figured,meant a straight or better. and queen elizabeth thompson was going in against at least a straightwith a pair of nines, jack high. for the first time, it was borne in on malonethat being a telepath did not necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. evenif you knew what every other person at the table held, you could still make a whole lotof stupid mistakes. he looked nervously at queen elizabeth, buther face was serene. apparently she'd been following the thoughts of the poker players,and not concentrating on him at all. that was a relief. he felt, for the first timein days, as if he could think freely. the cowboy said: "two," and took them. itwas her majesty's turn.

"i'll take two," she said, and threw awaythe three and four. it left her with the nine of spades and the nine of hearts, and thejack of diamonds. these were joined, in a matter of seconds,by two bright new cards: the six of clubs and the three of hearts. malone closed his eyes. oh, well, he thought. it was only thirty bucks down the drain. practicallynothing. of course her majesty dropped at once; knowingwhat the other players held, she knew she couldn't beat them after the draw. but shedid like to take long chances, malone thought miserably. imagine trying to fill a full houseon one pair!

slowly, as the minutes passed, the pile ofchips before her majesty dwindled. once malone saw her win with two pair against a recklessman trying to fill a straight on the other side of the table. but whatever was goingon, her majesty's face was as calm as if she were asleep. malone's worked overtime. if the queen hadn'tbeen losing so obviously, the dealer might have mistaken the play of naked emotion acrosshis visage for a series of particularly obvious signals. an hour went by. barbara left to find a ladies'lounge where she could sit down and try to relax. fascinated in a horrible sort of way,both malone and boyd stood, rooted to the

spot, while hand after hand went by and theten thousand dollars dwindled to half that, to a quarter, and even less-â¦. her majesty, it seemed, was a damn poor pokerplayer. the ante had been raised by this time. her majesty was losing one hundred dollarsa hand, even before the betting began. but she showed not the slightest indication tostop. "we've got to get up in the morning," maloneannounced to no one in particular, when he thought he couldn't possibly stand anotherhalf- hour of the game. "so we do," her majesty said with a littleregretful sigh. "very well, then. just one

more hand." "it's a shame to lose you," the cowboy saidto her, quite sincerely. he had been winning steadily ever since her majesty sat down,and malone thought that the man should, by this time, be awfully grateful to the unitedstates government. somehow, he doubted that this gratitude existed. malone wondered if she should be allowed tostay for one more hand. there was, he estimated, about two thousanddollars in front of her. then he wondered how he was going to stopher. the cards were dealt.

the first man said quietly: "open for twohundred." malone looked at the queen's hand. it containedthe ace, king, queen and ten of clubs-”and the seven of spades. oh, no. he thought. she couldn't possiblybe thinking of filling a flush. he knew perfectly well that she was. the second man said: "and raise two hundred." the queen equably tossed (counting, malonethought, the ante) five hundred into the pot. the cowboy muttered to himself for a second,and finally shoved in his money. "i think i'll raise it another five hundred,"the queen said calmly.

malone wanted to die of shock. unfortunately, he remained alive and watching.he saw the last man, after some debate internal, shove a total of one thousand dollars intothe pot. "cards?" said the dealer. the first man said:"one." it was too much to hope for, malone thought.if that first man were trying to fill a straight or a flush, maybe he wouldn't make it. andmaybe something final would happen to all the other players. but that was the only wayhe could see for her majesty to win. the card was dealt. the second man stood patand malone's green tinge became obvious to the veriest dunce. the cowboy, on her majesty'sright, asked for a card, received it and sat

back without a trace of expression. the queen said: "i'll try one for size." she'dpicked 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 dangerousinstead, like a love of big-game hunting, or stunt-flying. but no. it had to be poker. the queen threw away her seven of spades,showing more sense than malone had given her credit for at any time during the game. shelet the other card fall and didn't look at

it. she smiled up at malone and boyd. "live dangerously,"she said gaily. malone gave her a hollow laugh. the last man drew one card, too, and the bettingbegan. the queen's remaining thousand was gone beforean eye could notice it. she turned to boyd. "sir thomas," she said. "another five thousand,please. at once." boyd said nothing at all, but marched off.malone noticed, however, that his step was neither as springy nor as confident as ithad been before. for himself, malone was sure

that he could not walk at all. maybe, he thought hopefully, the floor wouldopen up and swallow them all. he tried to imagine explaining the loss of $20,000 toburris and some congressmen, and after that he watched the floor narrowly, hoping forthe smallest hint of a crack in the palazzo marble. "may i raise the whole five thousand?" thequeen said. "it's okay with me," the dealer said. "howabout the rest of you?" the four grunts he got expressed a suppressedeagerness. the queen took the new chips boyd had brought her and shoved them into the centerof the table with a fine, careless gesture

of her hand. she smiled gaily at everybody."seeing me?" she said. everybody was. "well, you see, it was this way," malone mutteredto himself, rehearsing. he half-thought that one of the others would raise again, but noone did. after all, each of them must be convinced that he held a great hand, and though raisinghad gone on throughout the hand, each must now be afraid of going the least little bittoo far and scaring the others out. "mr. congressman," malone muttered. "there'sthis game called poker. you play it with cards and money. chieflymoney." that wasn't any good.

"you've been called," the dealer said to thefirst man, who'd opened the hand a year or so before. "why, sure," the player said, and laid downa pair of aces, a pair of threes-”and a four. one of the threes, and the four, were clubs.that reduced the already improbable chances of the queen's coming up with a flush. "sorry," said the second man, and laid downa straight with a single gesture. the straight was nine-high and there wereno clubs in it. malone felt devoutly thankful for that. the second man reached for the money but,under the popeyed gaze of the dealer, the

fifth man laid down another straight-”thisone ten high. the nine was a club malone felt the odds go down, right in his own stomach. and now the cowboy put down his cards. theking of diamonds. the king of hearts. the jack of diamonds. the jack of spades. and-”thejack of hearts. full house. "well," said the cowboy, "i supposethat does it." the queen said: "please. one moment." the cowboy stopped halfway in his reach forthe enormous pile of chips. the queen laid down her four clubs-”ace, king, queen andten-” and for the first time flipped over her fifth card.

it was the jack of clubs. "my god," the cowboy said, and it soundedlike a prayer. "a royal flush." "naturally," the queen said. "what else?" her majesty calmly scooped up the tremendouspile of chips. the cowboy's hands fell away. five mouths were open around the table. her majesty stood up. she smiled sweetly atthe men around the table. "thank you very much, gentlemen," she said.she handed the chips to malone, who took them in nerveless fingers."sir kenneth," she said, "i hereby appoint you temporary chancellorof the exchequer-”at least

until parliament convenes." there was, malone thought, at least thirty-fivethousand dollars in the pile. he could think of nothing to say. so, instead of using up words, he went andcashed in the chips. for once, he realized, the government had made money on an investment.it was probably the first time since 1775. malone thought vaguely that the governmentought to make more investments like the one he was cashing in. if it did, the nationaldebt could be wiped out in a matter of days. he brought the money back. boyd and the queenwere waiting for him, but barbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "she's on the way out,"the queen informed him, and, sure enough,

in a minute they saw the figure approachingthem. malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, she smiled back. they began the long marchto the exit of the club, slowly and regally, though not by choice. the crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go.malone never found out, then or later, how the news of her majesty's winnings had gonethrough the place so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. the queen was the recipientof several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and, when they reached the front door at last,the doorman said in a most respectful tone: "good evening, your majesty." the queen positively beamed at him. so, tohis own great surprise, did

sir kenneth malone. outside, it was about four in the morning.they climbed into the car and headed back toward the hotel. malone was the first to speak. "how did youknow that was a jack of clubs?" he said in a strangled sort of voice. the little old lady said calmly: "he was cheating." "the dealer?" malone asked. the little oldlady nodded. "in your favor?" "he couldn't have been cheating," boyd saidat the same instant. "why would he want to give you all that money?"

the little old lady shook her head. "he didn'twant to give it to me," she said. "he wanted to give it to the man in the cowboy's suit.his name is elliott, by the way-”bernard l. elliott. and he comes from weehawken. buthe pretends to be a westerner so nobody will be suspicious of him. he and the dealer arein cahoots-”isn't that the word?" "yes, your majesty," boyd said. "that's theword." his tone was awed and respectful, and the little old lady gave a nod and becamequeen elizabeth i once more. "well," she said, "the dealer and mr. elliottwere in cahoots, and the dealer wanted to give the hand to mr. elliott. but he madea 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 waspositively magnificent understatement. "good," barbara said, and lost interest atonce. malone had seen the lights of a car in therear-view mirror a few minutes before. when he looked now, the lights were still there-”butthe fact just didn't register until, a couple of blocks later, the car began to pull aroundthem on the left. it was a buick, while boyd's was a new lincoln, but the edge wasn't tooapparent yet. malone spotted the gun barrel protruding fromthe buick and yelled just before the first shot went off.

boyd, at the wheel, didn't even bother tolook. his reflexes took over and he slammed his foot down on the brake. the specially-builtfbi lincoln slowed down instantly. the shotgun blast splattered the glass of the curved windshieldall over-”but none of it came into the car itself. malone already had his hand on the butt ofthe .44 magnum under his left armpit, and he even had time to be grateful, for once,that it wasn't a smallsword. the women were in the back seat, frozen, and he yelled: "duck,damn it, duck!" and felt, rather than saw, both of them sink down onto the floor of thecar. the buick had slowed down, too, and the gunbarrel was swiveling back for a second shot.

malone felt naked and unprotected. the buickand the lincoln were even on the road now. malone had his revolver out. he fired thefirst shot without even realizing fully that he'd done so, and he heard a piercing screamfrom barbara in the back seat. he had no time to look back. a .44 magnum is not, by any means, a smallgun. as handguns go-” revolvers and automatics-”it is about as large as a gun can get to be.an ordinary car has absolutely no chance against much less the glass in an ordinary car. the first slug drilled its way through thewindow glass as though it were not there, and slammed its way through an even more unprotectedobstacle, the frontal bones of the triggerman's

skull. the second slug from malone's gun followedit right away, and missed the hole the first slug had made by something less than an inch. the big, apelike thug who was holding theshotgun had a chance to pull the trigger once more, but he wasn't aiming very well. theblast merely scored the paint off the top of the lincoln. the rear window of the buick was open, andmalone caught sight of another glint of blued steel from the corner of his eye. there wasno time to shift aim-”not with bullets flying like swallows on the way to capistrano. malonethought faster than he had imagined himself capable of doing, and decided to aim for thedriver.

evidently the man in the rear seat of thebuick had had the same inspiration. malone blasted two more high-velocity lead slugsat the driver of the big buick, and at the same time the man in the buick's rear seatfired at boyd. but boyd had shifted tactics. he'd hit thebrakes. now he came down hard on the accelerator instead. the chorus of shrieks from the lincoln's backseat increased slightly in volume. barbara, malone knew, wasn't badly hurt; she hadn'teven stopped for breath since the first shot had been fired. anybody who could scream likethat, he told himself, had to be healthy. as the lincoln leaped ahead, malone pulledthe trigger of his .44 twice more. the heavy,

high-speed chunks of streamlined copper-coatedlead leaped from the muzzle of the gun and slammed into the driver of the buick withoutwasting any time. the buick slewed across the highway. the two shots fired by the man in the backseat went past malone's head with a whizz, missing both him and boyd by a margin toonarrow to think about. but those were the last shots. the only differencebetween the fbi and the enemy seemed to be determination and practice. the buick spun into a flat sideskid, swiveledon its wheels and slammed into the ditch at the side of the road, turning over and over,making a horrible noise, as it broke up.

boyd slowed the car again, just as there wasa sudden blast of fire. the buick had burst into flame and was spitting heat and smokeand fire in all directions. malone sent one more bullet after it in a last flurry of action-”savinghis last one for possible later emergencies. boyd jammed on the brakes and the lincolncame to a screaming halt. in silence he and malone watched the burning buick roll overand over into the desert beyond the shoulder. "my god," boyd said. "my ears!" malone understood at once. the blast fromhis own still-smoking .44 had roared past boyd's head during the gun battle. no wonderthe man's ears hurt. it was a wonder he wasn't altogether deaf.

but boyd shook off the pain and brought outhis own .44 as he stepped out of the car. malone followed him, his gun trained. from the rear, her majesty said: "it's safeto rise now, isn't it?" "you ought to know," malone said. "you cantell if they're still alive." there was silence while queen elizabeth frownedfor a moment in concentration. a look of pain crossed her face, and then, as her expressionsmoothed again, she said: "the traitors are dead. all except one, and he's-”" she paused."he's dying," she finished. "he can't hurt you." there was no need for further battle. malonereholstered his .44 and turned to boyd. "tom,

call the state police," he said. "get 'emdown here fast." he waited while boyd climbed back under thewheel and began punching buttons on the dashboard. then malone went toward the burning buick. he tried to drag the men out, but it wasn'tany use. the first two, in the front seat, had the kind of holes in them people talkedabout throwing elephants through. head and chest had been hit. malone couldn't get close enough to the fiercelyblazing automobile to make even a try for the men in the back seat. he was sitting quietly on the edge of therear seat when the nevada highway patrol cars

drove up next to them. barbara wilson hadstopped screaming, but she was still sobbing on malone's shoulder. "it's all right," hetold her, feeling ineffectual. "i never saw anybody killed before," she said. "it's all right," malone said. "nothing'sgoing to hurt you. i'll protect you." he wondered if he meant it, and found, tohis surprise, that he did. barbara wilson sniffled and looked up at him."mr. malone-”" "ken," he said. "i'm sorry," she said. "ken-”i'm so afraid.i saw the hole in one of the men's heads, when you fired-”it was-”"

"don't think about it," malone said. to him,the job had been an unpleasant occurrence, but a job, that was all. he could see, though,how it might affect people who were new to "you're so brave," she said. malone tightened his arm around the girl'sshoulder. "just depend on me," he said. "you'll be all right if you-”" the state trooper walked up then, and lookedat them. "mr. malone?" he said. he seemed to be taken slightly aback at the costuming. "that's right," malone said. he pulled outhis id card and the little golden badge. the state patrolman looked at them, and lookedback at malone.

"what's with the getup?" he said. "fbi," malone said, hoping his voice carriedconviction. "official business." "in costume?" "never mind about the details," malone snapped. "he's an fbi agent, sir," barbara said. "andwhat are you?" the patrolman said. "lady jane grey?" "i'm a nurse," barbara said. "a psychiatricnurse." "for nuts?" "for disturbed patients."

the patrolman thought that over. "hell, you'vegot the identity cards and stuff," he said at last. "maybe you've got a reason to dressup. how would i know? i'm only a state patrolman." "let's cut the monologue," malone said savagely,"and get to business." the patrolman stared. then he said: "all right,sir. yes, sir. i'm lieutenant adams, mr. malone. suppose youtell me what happened?" carefully and concisely, malone told him thestory of the buick that had pulled up beside them, and what happened afterward. meanwhile, the other cops had been lookingover the wreck. when malone had finished his story, lieutenant adams flipped his notebookshut and looked over toward them. "i guess

it's okay, sir," he said. "as far as i'm concerned,it's justifiable homicide. self-defense. any reason why they'd want to kill you?" malone thought about the golden palace. thatmight be a reason-”but it might not. and why burden an innocent state patrolman withthe facts of fbi life? "official," he said. "your chief will getthe report." the patrolman nodded. "i'll have to take adeposition tomorrow, but-”" "i know," malone said. "thanks. can we goon to our hotel now?" "i guess," the patrolman said. "go ahead.we'll take care of the rest of this. you'll be getting a call later."

"fine," malone said. "trace those hoods, andany connections they might have had. get the information to me as soon as possible." lieutenant adams nodded. "you won't have toleave the state, will you?" he asked. "i don't mean that you can't, exactly-”hell, you'refbi. but it'd be easier-”" "call burris in washington," malone said."he can get hold of me-”and if the governor wants to know where we are, or the state'sattorney, put them in touch with burris too. "okay," lieutenant adams said. "sure." heblinked at malone. "listen," he said. "about those costumes-”" "we're trying to catch henry viii for themurder of anne boleyn,"

malone said with a polite smile. "okay?" "i was only asking," lieutenant adams said."can't blame a man for asking, now, can you?" malone climbed into his front seat. "callme later," he said. the car started. "back to the hotel, sir thomas," malone said, andthe car roared off. chapter 7 yucca flats, malone thought, certainly deservedits name. it was about as flat as land could get, and it contained millions upon millionsof useless yuccas. perhaps they were good for something, malone thought, but they weren'tgood for him. the place might, of course, have been calledcactus flats, but the cacti were neither as

big nor as impressive as the yuccas. or was that yucci? possibly, malone mused, it was simply yucks. and whatever it was, there were millions ofit. malone felt he couldn't stand the sight of another yucca. he was grateful for onlyone thing. it wasn't summer. if the elizabethans hadbeen forced to drive in closed cars through the nevada desert in the summertime, theymight have started a cult of nudity, malone felt. it was bad enough now, in what was supposedto be winter. the sun was certainly bright enough, for onething. it glared through the cloudless sky

and glanced with blinding force off the road.sir thomas boyd squinted at it through the rather incongruous sunglasses he was wearing,while malone wondered idly if it was the sunglasses, or the rest of the world, that was an anachronism.but sir thomas kept his eyes grimly on the road as he gunned the powerful lincoln towardthe yucca flats labs at eighty miles an hour. malone twisted himself around and faced thewomen in the back seat. past them, through the rear window of thelincoln, he could see the second car. it followed them gamely, carryingthe newest addition to sir kenneth malone's collection of bats. "bats?" her majesty said suddenly, but gently."shame on you, sir kenneth. these are poor,

sick people. we must do our best to help them-”notto think up silly names for them. for shame!" "i suppose so," malone said wearily. he sighedand, for the fifth time that day, he asked: "does your majesty have any idea where ourspy is now?" "well, really, sir kenneth," the queen saidwith the slightest of hesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. telepathy has certain laws,just like everything else. after all, even a game has laws. being telepathic didn't helpme to play poker-”i still had to learn the rules. and telepathy has rules, too. a telepathcan easily confuse another telepath by using some of those rules." "oh, fine," malone said. "well, have you gotinto contact with his mind yet?"

"oh, yes," her majesty said happily. "andmy goodness, he's certainly digging up a lot of information, isn't he?" malone moaned softly. "but who is he?" heasked after a second. the queen stared at the roof of the car inwhat looked like concentration. "he hasn't thought of his name yet," she said. "i mean,at least, if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me. really, sir kenneth, you have no ideahow difficult all this is." malone swallowed with difficulty. "where is he, then," said. "can you tell methat, at least? his location?" her majesty looked positively desolated withsadness. "i can't be sure," she said. "i really

can't be exactly sure just where he is. hedoes keep moving around, i know that. but you have to remember that he doesn't wantme to find him. he certainly doesn't want to be found by the fbi-”would you?" "your majesty," malone said, "i am the fbi." "yes," the queen said, "but suppose you weren't?he's doing his best to hide himself, even from me. it's sort of a game he's playing." "a game!" her majesty looked contrite. "believe me,sir kenneth, the minute i know exactly where he is, i'll tell you. i promise. cross myheart and hope to die-”which i can't, of

course, being immortal." nevertheless, shemade an x-mark over her left breast. "all right?" "all right," malone said, out of sheer necessity."okay. but don't waste any time telling me. do it right away. we've got to find that spyand isolate him somehow." "please don't worry yourself, sir kenneth,"her majesty said. "your queen is doing everything she can." "i know that, your majesty," malone said."i'm sure of it." privately, he wondered just how much even she could do. then he realized-”forperhaps the ten-thousandth time-”that there was no such thing as wondering privately anymore.

"that's quite right, sir kenneth," the queensaid sweetly. "and it's about time you got used to it." "what's going on?" boyd said. "more readingminds back there?" "that's right, sir thomas," the queen said. "i've about gotten used to it," boyd saidalmost cheerfully. "pretty soon they'll come and take me away, but i don't mind at all."he whipped the car around a bend in the road savagely. "pretty soon they'll put me withthe other sane people and let the bats inherit the world. but i don't mind at all." "sir thomas!" her majesty said in shockedtones.

"please," boyd said with a deceptive calmness."just mr. boyd. not even lieutenant boyd, or sergeant boyd. just mr. boyd. or, if youprefer, tom." "sir thomas," her majesty said, "i reallycan't understand this sudden-”" "then don't understand it," boyd said. "alli 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. "okay," he said. "iwon't smooth you down. i'll just tell you

to shut up, to keep driving-”and to showsome respect to her majesty." "i-”" boyd stopped. there was a second ofsilence. "that's better," her majesty said with satisfaction. lady barbara stretched in the back seat, nextto her majesty. "this is certainly a long drive," she said. "have we got much fartherto go?" "not too far," malone said. "we ought to bethere soon." "i-”i'm sorry for the way i acted," barbarasaid. "what do you mean, the way you acted?" "crying like that," barbara said with somehesitation. "making an-” absolute idiot of

myself. when that other car-”tried to getus." "don't worry about it," malone said. "it wasnothing." "i just-”made trouble for you," barbara said. her majesty touched the girl on the shoulder."he's not thinking about the trouble you cause him," she said quietly. "of course i'm not," malone told her. "buti-”" "my dear girl," her majesty said, "i believethat sir kenneth is, at least partly, in love with you." malone blinked. it was perfectly true-”evenif he hadn't quite known it himself until

now. telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionallyhandy things to have around. "in-⦠love-â¦." 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 couldsee the blot on the desert that indicated the broad expanse of yucca flats labs. justthe fact that it could be seen, he knew, didn't mean an awful lot. malone had been able tosee it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn't look as if they'd gained an inch onit. desert distances are deceptive.

at long last, however, the main gate of thelaboratories hove into view. boyd made a left turn off the highway and drove a full sevenmiles along the restricted road, right up to the big gate that marked the entrance ofthe laboratories themselves. once again, they were faced with the army of suspicious guardsand security officers. this time, suspicion was somewhat heightenedby the dress of the visitors. malone had to explain about six times that the costumeswere part of an fbi arrangement, that he had not stolen his identity cards, that boyd'scards were boyd's, too, and in general that the four of them were not insane, not spies,and not jokesters out for a lark in the sunshine. malone had expected all of that. he went throughthe rigmarole wearily but 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 the gate. when he'd finished identifying everybody forthe fifth or sixth time, he began to climb back into the car. a familiar voice stoppedhim cold. "just a minute, malone," andrew j. burrissaid. he erupted from the guardhouse like an avenging angel, followed closely by a thinman, about five feet ten inches in height, with brush-cut brown hair, round horn-rimmedspectacles, large hands and a small sir francis drake beard. malone looked at the two figuresblankly. "something wrong, chief?" he said.

burris came toward the car. the thin gentlemanfollowed him, walking with an odd bouncing step that must have been acquired, malonethought, over years of treading on rubber eggs. "i don't know," burris said when he'dreached the door. "when i was in washington, i seemed to know-”but when i get out herein this desert, everything just goes haywire." he rubbed at his forehead. then he looked into the car. "hello, boyd,"he said pleasantly. "hello, chief," boyd said. burris blinked. "boyd, you look like henryviii," he said with only the faintest trace of surprise.

"doesn't he, though?" her majesty said fromthe rear seat. "i've noticed that resemblance myself." burris gave her a tiny smile. "oh," he said."hello, your majesty. i'm-”" "andrew j. burris, director of the fbi," thequeen finished for him. "yes, i know. it's very nice to meet you at last. i've seen youon television, and over the video phone. you photograph badly, you know." "i do?" burris said pleasantly. it was obviousthat he was keeping himself under very tight control.

malone felt remotely sorry for the man-”butonly remotely. burris might as well know, he thought, what they had all been going throughthe past several days. her majesty was saying something about thehonorable estate of knighthood, and the queen's list. malone began paying attention when shecame to:"-”and i hereby dub thee-”" she stopped suddenly, turned and said: "sir kenneth,give me your weapon." malone hesitated for a long, long second.but burris' eye was on him, and he could interpret the look without much trouble. there was onlyone thing for him to do. he pulled out his .44, ejected the cartridges in his palm (andreminded himself to reload the gun as soon as he got it back), and handed the weaponto the queen, butt foremost.

she took the butt of the revolver in her righthand, leaned out the window of the car, and said in a fine, distinct voice: "kneel, andrew." malone watched with wide, astonished eyesas andrew j. burris, director of the fbi, went to one knee in a low and solemn genuflection.queen elizabeth thompson nodded her satisfaction. she tapped burris gently on each shoulderwith the muzzle of the gun. "i knight thee sir andrew," she said. she cleared her throat."my, this desert air is dry-â¦. rise, sir andrew, and know that you are henceforth knightcommander of the queen's own fbi." "thank you, your majesty," burris said humbly. he rose to his feet silently. the queen withdrewinto the car again and handed the gun back

to malone. he thumbed the cartridges intothe chambers of the cylinder and listened dumbly. "your majesty," burris said, "this is dr.harry gamble, the head of project isle. dr. gamble, this is her majesty the queen; ladybarbara wilson, her-”uh-”her lady-in-waiting; sir kenneth malone; and king-”i mean sirthomas boyd." he gave the four a single bright impartial smile. then he tore his eyes awayfrom the others, and bent his gaze on sir kenneth malone. "come over here a minute,malone," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "i want to talk to you." malone climbed out of the car and went aroundto meet burris. he felt just a little worried

as he followed the director away from thecar. true, he had sent burris a long telegram the night before, in code. but he hadn't expectedthe man to show up in yucca flats. there didn't seem to be any reason for it. and when there isn't any reason, malone toldhimself sagely, it's a bad one. "what's the trouble, chief?" he asked. burris sighed. "none so far," he said quietly."i got a report from the nevada state patrol, and ran it through r&i. they identified themen you killed, all right-”but it didn't do us any good. they're hired hoods." "who hired them?" malone said.

burris shrugged. "somebody with money," hesaid. "hell, men like that would kill their own grandmothers if the price were right-”youknow that. we can't trace them back any farther." malone nodded. that was, he had to admit,bad news. but then, when had he last had any good news? "we're nowhere near our telepathic spy," burrissaid. "we haven't come any closer than we were when we started. have you got anything?anything at all, no matter how small?" "not that i know of, sir," malone said. "what about the little old lady-”what's hername? thompson. anything from her?" malone hesitated. "she has a close fix onthe spy, sir," he said slowly, "but she doesn't

seem able to identify him right away." "what else does she want?" burris said. "we'vemade her queen and given her a full retinue in costume; we've let her play roulette andpoker with government money. does she want to hold a mass execution? if she does, i cansupply some congressmen, malone. i'm sure it could be arranged." he looked at the agentnarrowly. "i might even be able to supply an fbi man or two," he added. malone swallowed hard. "i'm trying the besti can, sir," he said. "what about the others?" burris looked even unhappier than usual. "comealong," he said. "i'll show you."

when they got back to the car, dr. gamblewas talking spiritedly with her majesty about roger bacon. "before my time, of course,"the queen was saying, "but i'm sure he was a most interesting man. now when dear oldmarlowe wrote his faust, he and i had several long discussions about such matters. alchemy,doctor-”" burris interrupted with: "i beg your pardon,your majesty, but we must get on. perhaps you'll be able to continue your-”ah-”audiencelater." he turned to boyd. "sir thomas," he said with an effort, "drive directly to thewestinghouse buildings. over that way." he pointed. "dr. gamble will ride with you, andthe rest of us will follow in the second car. let's move."

he stepped back as the project head got intothe car, and watched it roar off. then he and malone went to the second car, anotherfbi lincoln. two agents were sitting in the back seat, with a still figure between them. with a shock, malone recognized william loganand the agents he'd detailed to watch the telepath. logan's face did not seem to havechanged expression since malone had seen it last, and he wondered wildly if perhaps ithad to be dusted once a week. he got in behind the wheel and burris slidin next to him. "westinghouse," burris said. "and let's getthere in a hurry." "right," malone said, and started the car.

"we just haven't had a single lead," burrissaid. "i was hoping you'd come up with something. your telegram detailed the fight, of course,and the rest of what's been happening-”but i hoped there'd be something more." "there isn't," malone was forced to admit."all we can do is try to persuade her majesty to tell us-”" "oh, i know it isn't easy," burris said. "butit seems to me-â¦." by the time they'd arrived at the administrativeoffices of westinghouse's psionics research area, malone found himself wishing that somethingwould happen. possibly, he thought, lightning might strike, or an earthquake swallow everythingup. he was, suddenly, profoundly tired of

the entire affair. chapter 8 four days later, he was more than tired. hewas exhausted. the six psychopaths-”including her majesty queen elizabeth i-”had been housedin a converted dormitory in the westinghouse area, together with four highly nervous andeven more highly trained and investigated psychiatrists from st. elizabeths in washington.the convention of nuts, as malone called it privately, was in full swing. and it was every bit as strange as he'd thoughtit was going to be. unfortunately, five of the six (her majesty being the only exception)were completely out of contact with the world.

the psychiatrists referred to them in worriedtones as "unavailable for therapy," and spent most of their time brooding over possibleways of bringing them back into the real world for a while, at least far enough so that theycould be spoken with. malone stayed away from the five who werecompletely psychotic. the weird babblings of fifty-year-old barry miles disconcertedhim. they sounded like little charlie o'neill's strange semi-connected jabber, but westinghouse'sdr. o'connor said that it seemed to represent another phenomenon entirely. william logan'sblank face was a memory of horror, but the constant tinkling giggles of ardith parker,the studied and concentrated way that gordon macklin wove meaningless patterns in the airwith his waving fingers, and the rhythmless,

melodyless humming that seemed to be all therewas to the personality of robert cassiday were simply too much for malone. taken singly,each was frightening and remote; all together, they wove a picture of insanity that chilledhim more than he wanted to admit. when the seventh telepath was flown in fromhonolulu, malone didn't even bother to see her. he let the psychiatrists take over directly,and simply avoided their sessions. queen elizabeth i, on the other hand, he foundgenuinely likeable. according to the psych boys, she had been(as both malone and her majesty had theorized) heavily frustrated by being the possessorof a talent which no one else recognized. beyond that, the impact of other minds wasdisturbing; there was a slight loss of identity

which seemed to be a major factor in everycase of telepathic insanity. but the queen had compensated for her frustrations in theeasiest possible way; she had simply traded her identity for another one, and had rationalizeda single, overruling delusion: that she was queen elizabeth i of england, still aliveand wrongfully deprived of her throne. "it's a beautiful rationalization," one ofthe psychiatrists said with more than a trace of admiration in his voice. "complete andthoroughly consistent. she's just traded identities-”and everything else she does-”everything else-”stemslogically out of her delusional premise. beautiful." she may have been crazy, malone realized.but she was a long way from stupid. the project was in full swing. the only troublewas that they were no nearer finding the telepath

than they had been three weeks before. withfive completely blank human beings to work with, and the sixth queen elizabeth (maloneheard privately that the last telepath, the girl from honolulu, was no better than thefirst five; she had apparently regressed into what one of the psychiatrists called a "non-identity childhood syndrome." malone didn't know what it meant, but it sounded terrible.)-”withthat crew, malone could see why progress was their most difficult commodity. dr. harry gamble, the head of project isle,was losing poundage by the hour with worry. and, malone reflected, he could ill affordit. burris, malone and boyd had set themselvesup in a temporary office within the westinghouse

area. the director had left his assistantin charge in washington. nothing, he said over and over again, was as important as thespy in project isle. apparently boyd had come to believe that,too. at any rate, though he was still truculent, there were no more outbursts of rebellion. but, on the fourth day: "what do we do now?" burris asked. "shoot ourselves," boyd said promptly. "now, look here-”" malone began, but he wasoverruled. "boyd," burris said levelly, "if i hear anymore of that sort of pessimism, you're going

to be an exception to the beard rule. onemore crack out of you, and you can go out and buy yourself a razor." boyd put his hand over his chin protectively,and said nothing at all. "wait a minute," malone said. "aren't thereany sane telepaths in the world?" "we can't find any," burris said. "we-”" there was a knock at the office door. "who'sthere?" burris called. "dr. gamble," said the man's surprisinglybaritone voice. burris called: "come in, doctor," and thedoor opened. dr. gamble's lean face looked almost haggard.

"mr. burris," he said, extending his armsa trifle, "can't anything be done?" malone had seen gamble speaking before, and had wonderedif it would be possible for the man to talk with his hands tied behind his back. apparentlyit wouldn't be. "we feel that we are approaching a critical stage in project isle," the scientistsaid, enclosing one fist within the other hand. "if anything more gets out to the soviets,we might as well publish our findings-”" a wide, outflung gesture of both arms-”"inthe newspapers." burris stepped back. "we're doing the bestwe 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 more than we did fourdays ago. miss thompson has assured us that

the spy is right here, within the compoundof yucca flats labs. we've bottled everything up in this compound, and i'm confident thatno information is at present getting through to the soviet government. miss thompson agreeswith me." "miss thompson?" gamble said, one hand athis bearded chin. "the queen," burris said. gamble nodded and two fingers touched hisforehead. "ah," he said. "of course." he rubbed at the back of his neck. "but we can't keepeverybody who's here now locked up forever. sooner or later we'll have to let them-”"his left hand described the gesture of a man tossing away a wad of paper-”"go." his handsfell to his sides. "we're lost, unless we

can find that spy." "we'll find him," burris said with a showof great confidence. "give her time," burris said. "give her time.remember her mental condition." boyd looked up. "rome," he said in an absentfashion, "wasn't built in a daze." burris glared at him, but said nothing. malonefilled the conversational hole with what he thought would be nice, and hopeful, and untrue. "we know he's someone on the reservation,so we'll catch him eventually," he said. "and as long as his information isn't getting intosoviet hands, we're safe." he glanced at his wristwatch.

dr. gamble said: "but-”" "my, my," malone said. "almost lunchtime.i have to go over and have lunch with her majesty. maybe she's dug up something more." "i hope so," dr. gamble said, apparently successfullydeflected. "i do hope so." "well," malone said, "pardon me." he shuckedoff his coat and trousers. then he proceeded to put on the doublet and hose that hung inthe little office closet. he shrugged into the fur-trimmed, slash- sleeved coat, adjustedthe plumed hat to his satisfaction with great care, and gave burris and the others a smallbow. "i go to an audience with her majesty, gentlemen," he said in a grave, well-modulatedvoice. "i shall return anon."

he went out the door and closed it carefullybehind him. when he had gone a few steps he allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh. then he went outside and across the dustystreet to the barracks where her majesty and the other telepaths were housed. no one paidany attention to him, and he rather missed the stares he'd become used to drawing. butby now, everybody was used to seeing elizabethan clothing. her majesty had arrived at a newplateau. she would now allow no one to have audiencewith her unless he was properly dressed. even the psychiatrists-”whom she had, with a carefulsense of meiosis, appointed physicians to the royal house-”had to wear the stuff.

malone went over the whole case in his mind-”forabout the thousandth time, he told himself bitterly. who could the telepathic spy be? it was likelooking for a needle in a rolling stone, he thought. or something. he did remember clearlythat a stitch in time saved nine, but he didn't know nine what, and suspected it had nothingto do with his present problem. how about dr. harry gamble, malone thought.it seemed a little unlikely that the head of project isle would be spying on his ownmen-”particularly since he already had all the information. but, on the other hand, hewas 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 foundher majesty, he had had a suspicion that o'connor had cooked the whole thing up to throw thefbi off the trail and confuse everybody, and that he'd intended merely to have the fbichase ghosts while the real spy did his work undetected. but what if o'connor were the spy himself-”atelepath? what if he were so confident of his ability to throw the queen off the trackthat he had allowed the fbi to find all the other telepaths? there was another argumentfor that: he'd had to report the findings of his machine no matter what it cost him;there were too many other men on his staff who knew about it.

o'connor was a perfectly plausible spy, too.but he didn't seem very likely. the head of a government project is likely to be a much-investigated man. could any tie-up with russia-”even a psionic one-” stand up against that kindof investigation? it was possible. anything, after all, was possible. you eliminated theimpossible, and then whatever remained, however improbable-â¦. malone told himself morosely to shut up andthink. o'connor, he told himself, might be the spy.it would be a pleasure, he realized, to go to the office of that superior scientist andarrest him. "i know your true name," he muttered. "it isn't o'connor, it's moriarty." he wonderedif the westinghouse man had ever done any

work on the dynamics of an asteroid. thenhe wondered what the dynamics of an asteroid but if o'connor were the spy, nothing madesense. why would he have disclosed the fact that people were having their minds read inthe first place? sadly, malone gave up the idea. but, then,there were other ideas. the other psychiatrists, for instance-â¦. the only trouble with them, malone realized,was that there seemed to be neither motive nor anything else to connect them to the case.there was no evidence, none in any direction. why, there was just as much evidence thatthe spy was really kenneth j. malone, he told himself.

and then he stopped. maybe tom boyd had been thinking that wayabout him. maybe boyd suspected that he, malone, was really the spy. certainly it worked in reverse. boyd-⦠no, malone told himself firmly. that was silly. if he were going to consider boyd, he realized,he might as well go whole hog and think about andrew j. burris. and that really was ridiculous. absolutelyridic-â¦. well, queen elizabeth had seemed pretty certainwhen she'd pointed him out in dr. dowson's

office. and the fact that she'd apparentlychanged her mind didn't have to mean very much. after all, how much faith could youplace in her majesty at the best of times? if she'd made a mistake about burris in thefirst place, she could just as well have made a mistake in the second place. or about thespy's being at yucca flats at all. in which case, malone thought sadly, theywere right back where they'd started from. behind their own goal line. one way or another, though, her majesty hadmade a mistake. she'd pointed burris out as the spy, and then she'd said she'd been wrong.either burris was a spy, or else he wasn't. you couldn't have it both ways.

and if burris really were the spy, malonethought, then why had he started the investigation in the first place? you came back to the samequestion with burris, he realized, that you had with dr. o'connor: it didn't make sensefor a man to play one hand against the other. maybe the right hand sometimes didn't knowwhat the left hand was doing, but this was ridiculous. so burris wasn't the spy. and her majestyhad made a mistake when she'd said-â¦. "wait a minute," malone told himself suddenly. had she? maybe, after all, you could have it both ways.the thought occurred to him with a startling

suddenness and he stood silent upon a peakin yucca flats, contemplating it. a second went by. and then something burris himself had saidcame back to him, something that-” "i'll be damned," he muttered. he came to a dead stop in the middle of thestreet. in one sudden flash of insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking atfor so long fell together and formed one consistent picture. the pattern was complete. malone blinked. in that second, he knew exactly who the spywas.

a jeep honked raucously and swerved aroundhim. the driver leaned out to curse and malone waved at him, dimly recognizing a privateeye he had once known, a middle-aged man named archer. wondering vaguely what archer wasdoing this far east, and in a jeep at that, malone watched the vehicle disappear downthe street. there were more cars coming, but what difference did that make? malone didn'tcare about cars. after all, he had the answer, the whole answer-â¦. "i'll be damned," he said again, abruptly,and wheeled around to head back to the offices. on the way, he stopped in at another smalloffice, this one inhabited by the two fbi men from las vegas. he gave a series of quickorders, and got the satisfaction, as he left,

of seeing one of the fbi men grabbing fora phone in a hurry. it was good to be doing things again, importantthings. burris, boyd and dr. gamble were still talkingas malone entered. "that," burris said, "was one hell of a quicklunch. what's her majesty doing now-”running a diner?" malone ignored the bait, and drew himselfto his full height. "gentlemen," he said solemnly, "her majesty has asked that all of us attendher in audience. she has information of the utmost gravity to impart, and wishes thisaudience at once." dr. gamble made a puzzled, circular gesturewith one hand. "what's the matter?" he asked.

"is something-”" the hand dropped-”"wrong?" burris barely glanced at him. a startled expressioncame over his features. "has she-”" he began, and stopped, leaving his mouth open and therest of the sentence unfinished. malone nodded gravely and drew in a breath.elizabethan periods were hard on the lungs, he had begun to realize: you needed a lotof air before you embarked on a sentence. "i believe, gentlemen," he said, "that hermajesty is about to reveal the identity of the spy who has been battening on projectisle." the silence lasted no more than three seconds.dr. gamble didn't even make a gesture during

that time. then burris spoke. "let's go," he snapped. he wheeled and headedfor the door. the others promptly followed. "gentlemen!" malone said, sounding, as faras he could tell, properly shocked and offended. "your dress!" "what?" dr. gamble said, throwing up bothhands. "oh, no," boyd chimed in. "not now." burris simply said: "you're quite right. getdressed, boyd-”i mean, of course, sir thomas." while they were dressing, malone put in acall to dr. o'connor's office. the scientist was as frosty as ever.

"yes, mr. malone?" the sound of that voice,malone reflected, was enough to give anybody double revolving pneumonia with knobs on. "dr. o'connor," he said, "her majesty wantsyou in her court in ten minutes-”and in full court dress." o'connor merely sighed, like boreas. "whatis this," he asked, "more tomfoolery?" "i really couldn't say," malone told him coyly."but i'd advise you to be there. it might interest you." "interest me?" o'connor stormed. "i've gotwork to do here-”important work. you simply do not realize, mr. malone-”"

"whatever i realize," malone cut in, feelingbrave, "i'm passing on orders from her majesty." "that insane woman," o'connor stated flatly,"is not going to order me about. good lord, do you know what you're saying?" malone nodded. "i certainly do," he said cheerfully."if you'd rather, i can have the orders backed up by the united states government. but thatwon't be necessary, will it?" "the united states government," o'connor said,thawing perceptibly about the edges, "ought to allow a man to do his proper work, andnot force him to go chasing off after the latest whims of some insane old lady." "you will be there, now, won't you?" maloneasked. his own voice reminded him of something,

and in a second he had it: the cooing, gentlepersuasion of dr. andrew blake of rice pavilion, who had locked malone in a padded cell. itwas the voice of a man talking to a mental case. it sounded remarkably apt. dr. o'connor wentslightly purple, but controlled himself magnificently. "i'll be there," he said. "good," malone told him, and snapped the phoneoff. then he put in a second call to the psychiatristsfrom st. elizabeths and 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 now assembling. burris and the others were ready to go, sparklingly dressed andlooking impatient. malone put down the phone and took one great breath of relief. then, beaming, he led the others out. ten minutes later, there were nine men inelizabethan costume standing outside the room which had been designated as the queen's court.dr. gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve-ruffs were half way up to his elbowsand his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. the st. elizabeths men, all fourof them, looked just a little like moth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. malone lookedthem over with a somewhat sardonic eye. not

only did he have the answer to the whole problemthat had been plaguing them, but his costume was a stunning, perfect fit. "now, i want you men to let me handle this,"malone said. "i know just what i want to say, and i think i can get the information withouttoo much trouble." one of the psychiatrists spoke up. "i trustyou won't disturb the patient, mr. malone," "sir kenneth," malone snapped. the psychiatrist looked both abashed and worried."i'm sorry," he said doubtfully. malone nodded. "that's all right," he said."i'll try not to disturb her majesty unduly."

the psychiatrists conferred. when they cameout of the huddle one of them-”malone was never able to tell them apart-”said: "verywell, we'll let you handle it. but we will be forced to interfere if we feel you're-”ah-”goingtoo far." malone said: "that's fair enough, gentlemen.let's go." he opened the door. it was a magnificent room. the whole placehad been done over in plastic and synthetic fibers to look like something out of the sixteenthcentury. it was as garish, and as perfect, as a hollywood movie set-”which wasn't surprising,since two stage designers had been hired away from color-tv spectaculars to set it up. atthe far end of the room, past the rich hangings

and the flaming chandeliers, was a great throne,and on it her majesty was seated. lady barbara reclined on the steps at her feet. malone saw the expression on her majesty'sface. he wanted to talk to barbara-”but there wasn't time. later, there might be. now, hecollected his mind and drove one thought at the queen, one single powerful thought: read me! you know by this time that i havethe 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 approachof sir kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained on malone. "youmay approach, my lords," said the queen.

sir kenneth led the procession, with sir thomasand sir andrew close behind him. o'connor and gamble came next, and bringing up therear were the four psychiatrists. they strode slowly along the red carpet that stretchedfrom the door to the foot of the throne. they came to a halt a few feet from the steps leadingup to the throne, and bowed in unison. "you may explain, sir kenneth," her majestysaid. "your majesty understands the conditions?"malone asked. "perfectly," said the queen. "proceed." now the expression on barbara's face changed,to wonder and a kind of fright. malone didn't look at her. instead, he turned to dr. o'connor.

"dr. o'connor, what are your plans for thetelepaths who have been brought here?" he shot the question out quickly, and o'connorwas caught off-balance. "well-”ah-”we would like their cooperationin further research which we-”ah-”plan to do into the actual mechanisms of telepathy.provided, of course-”" he coughed gently-”"provided that they become-”ah-” accessible. miss-”imean, of course, her majesty has already been a great deal of help." he gave malone an oddlook. it seemed to say: what's coming next? malone simply gave him a nod, and a "thankyou, doctor," and turned to burris. he could feel barbara's eyes on him, but he went onwith his prepared questions. "chief," he said, "what about you? after we nail our spy, whathappens-”to her majesty, i mean? you don't

intend to stop giving her the homage due her,do you?" burris stared, openmouthed. after a secondhe managed to say: "why, no, of course not, sir kenneth. that is-”" and he glanced overat the psychiatrists-”"if the doctors think-â¦." there was another hurried consultation. thefour psychiatrists came out of it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatmentswhich had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to be discontinued, althoughof course there was always the chance that-â¦. "thank you, gentlemen," malone said smoothly.he could see that they were nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult itwas for a psychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. but they'd already realizedthat it didn't make any difference; their

thoughts were an open book, anyway. lady barbara said: "sir-”i mean ken-”areyou going to-”" "what's this all about?" burris snapped. "just a minute, sir andrew," malone said."i'd like to ask one of the doctors here-”or all of them, for that matter-”one more question."he whirled and faced them. "i'm assuming that not one of these persons is legally responsiblefor his or her actions. is that correct?" another hurried huddle. the psych boys werebeginning to remind malone of a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms. finally one of them said: "you are correct.according to the latest statutes, all of these

persons are legally insane-”including hermajesty." he paused and gulped. "i except the fbi, of course-”and ourselves." anotherpause. "and dr. o'connor and dr. gamble." "and," said lady barbara, "me." she smiledsweetly at them all. "ah," the psychiatrist said. "certainly. ofcourse." he retired into his group with some confusion. malone was looking straight at the throne.her majesty's countenance was serene and unruffled. barbara said suddenly: "you don't mean-”butshe-”" and closed her mouth. malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to thequeen. "well, your majesty?" he said. "you have seenthe thoughts of every man here. how do they

appear to you?" her voice contained both tension and relief."they are all good men, basically-”and kind men," she said. "and they believe us. that'sthe important thing, you know. their belief in us-â¦. just as you said that first daywe met. we've needed belief for so long -⦠for so long-â¦." her voice trailed off; it seemedto become lost in a constellation of thoughts. barbara had turned to look up at her majesty. malone took a step forward, but burris interruptedhim. "how about the spy?" he said. then his eyes widened. boyd, standing nextto him, leaned suddenly forward. "that's why you mentioned all that about legal immunitybecause of insanity," he whispered. "because-”"

"no," barbara said. "no. she couldn't-”she'snot-”" they were all looking at her majesty, now.she returned them stare for stare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloedin the room's light. "sir kenneth," she said-”and her voice was only the least bit unsteady-”"theyall think i'm the spy." barbara stood up. "listen," she said. "i didn'tlike her majesty at first-”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 like her. i like herbecause she's good and kind herself, and because-”because she wouldn't be a spy. she couldn't be. nomatter what any of you think-”even you-”sir kenneth!"

there was a second of silence. "of course she's not," malone said quietly."she's no spy." "would i spy on my own subjects?" she said."use your reason!" "you mean-”" burris began, and boyd finishedfor him: "-”she isn't?" "no," malone snapped. "she isn't. remember,you said it would take a telepath to catch a telepath?" "well-”" burris began. "well, her majesty remembered it," malonesaid. "and acted on it."

barbara remained standing. she went to thequeen and put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. her majesty did not object."i knew," she said. "you couldn't have been a spy." "listen, dear," the queen said. "your kennethhas seen the truth of the matter. listen to him." "her majesty not only caught the spy," malonesaid, "but she turned the spy right over to us." he turned at once and went back down the longred carpet to the door. i really ought to get a sword, he thought, and didn't see hermajesty smile. he opened the door with a great

flourish and said quietly: "bring him in,boys." the fbi men from las vegas marched in. betweenthem was their prisoner, a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a straitjacket that seemed tomake no difference at all to him. his mind was-”somewhere else. but his body was trappedbetween the fbi agents: the body of william logan. "impossible," one of the psychiatrists said. malone spun on his heel and led the way backto the throne. logan and his guards followed closely. "your majesty," malone said. "may i presentthe prisoner?"

"perfectly correct, sir kenneth," the queensaid. "poor willie is your spy. you won't be too hard on him, will you?" "i don't think so, your majesty," malone said."after all-”" "now wait a minute," burris exploded. "howthe hell did you know any of this?" malone bowed to her majesty, and winked atbarbara. he turned to burris. "well," he said, "i had one pieceof information none of the rest of you had. when we were in the desertedge sanatorium, dr. dowson called you on the phone. remember?" "sure i remember," burris said. "so?"

"well," malone said, "her majesty said sheknew just where the spy was. i asked her where-”" "why didn't you tell me?" burris screamed."you knew all this time and you didn't tell me?" "hold on," malone said. "i asked her where-”andshe said: 'he's right there.' and she was pointing right at your image on the screen." burris opened his mouth. nothing came out.he closed it and tried again. at last he managed one word. "me?" he said. "you," malone said. "but that's what i realizedlater. she wasn't pointing at you. she was

pointing at logan, who was in the next room." barbara whispered: "is that right, your majesty?" "certainly, dear," the queen said calmly."would i lie to sir kenneth?" malone was still talking. "the thing thatset me off this noon was something you said, sir andrew," he went on. "you said there weren'tany sane telepaths-”remember?" burris, incapable of speech, merely nodded. "but according to her majesty," malone said,"we had every telepath in the united states right here. she told me that-”and i didn'teven see it!"

"don't blame yourself, sir kenneth," the queenput in. "i did do my best to mislead you, you know." "you sure did!" malone said. "and later on,when we were driving here, she said the spy was 'moving around.' that's right; he wasin the car behind us, going eighty miles an hour." barbara stared. malone got a lot of satisfactionout of that stare. but there was still more ground to cover. "then," he said, "she told us he was hereat yucca flats-”after we brought him here! it had to be one of the other six telepaths."

the psychiatrist who'd muttered: "impossible,"was still muttering it. malone ignored him. "and when i remembered her pointing at you,"malone told burris, "and remembered that she'd only said: 'he's right there,' i knew it hadto be logan. you weren't there. you were only an image on a tv screen. logan was there-”inthe room behind the phone." burris had found his tongue. "all right,"he said. "okay. but what's all this about misleading us-”and why didn't she tell usright away, anyhow?" malone turned to her majesty on the throne."i think that the queen had better explain that-”if she will."

queen elizabeth thompson nodded very slowly."i-”i only wanted you to respect me," she said. "to treat me properly." her voice soundeduneven, and her eyes were glistening with unspilled tears. lady barbara tightened herarm about the queen's shoulders once more. "it's all right," she said. "we do-”respectyou." the queen smiled up at her. malone waited. after a second her majestycontinued. "i was afraid that as soon as you found poorwillie you'd send me back to the hospital," she said. "and willie couldn't tell the russianagents any more once he'd been taken away. so i thought i'd just-”just let things staythe way they were as long as i could. that's-”that's

all." malone nodded. after a second he said: "yousee that we couldn't possibly send you back now, don't you?" "you know all the state secrets, your majesty,"malone said. "we would rather that dr. harman in san francisco didn't try to talk you outof them. or anyone else." the queen smiled tremulously. "i know toomuch, do i?" she said. then her grin faded. "poor dr. harman," she said. "poor dr. harman?" "you'll hear about him in a day or so," shesaid. "i-”peeked inside his mind. he's very

ill." "ill?" lady barbara asked. "oh, yes," the queen said. the trace of asmile appeared on her face. "he thinks that all the patients in the hospital can see insidehis mind." "oh, my," lady barbara said-”and began tolaugh. it was the nicest sound malone had ever heard. "forget harman," burris snapped. "what aboutthis spy ring? how was logan getting his information out?" "i've already taken care of that," malonesaid. "i had desert edge sanatorium surrounded

as soon as i knew what the score was." helooked at one of the agents holding logan. "they ought to be in the las vegas jail withinhalf an hour," he said in confirmation. "dr. dowson was in on it, wasn't he, yourmajesty?" malone said. "certainly," the queen said. her eyes weresuddenly very cold. "i hope he tries to escape. i hope he tries it." malone knew just how she felt. one of the psychiatrists spoke up suddenly."i don't understand it," he said. "logan is completely catatonic. even if he could readminds, how could he tell dowson what he'd read? it doesn't make sense."

"in the first place," the queen said patiently,"willie isn't catatonic. he's just busy, that's all. he's only a boy, and-”well, he doesn'tmuch like being who he is. so he visits other people's minds, and that way he becomes themfor a while. you see?" "vaguely," malone said. "but how did dowsonget his information? i had everything worked out but that." "i know you did," the queen said, "and i'mproud of you. i intend to award you with the order of the bath for this day's work." unaccountably, malone's chest swelled withpride. "as for dr. dowson," the queen said, "thattraitor-”hurt willie. if he's hurt enough,

he'll come back." her eyes weren't hard anymore. "he didn't want to be a spy, really," she said, "but he's just a boy, and it musthave sounded rather exciting. he knew that if he told dowson everything he'd found out,they'd let him go-”go away again." "well," malone said, "that about wraps itup. any questions?" he looked around at the men, but before anyof them could speak up her majesty rose. "i'm sure there are questions," she said,"but i'm really very tired. my lords, you are excused." she extended a hand. "come,lady barbara," she said. "i think i really may need that nap, now."

malone put the cufflinks in his shirt withgreat care. they were great stones, and malone thought that they gave his costume that necessaryelizabethan flair. not that he was wearing the costumes of thequeen's court now. instead, he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white-on-white shirt and no tie. he selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from his closetrack. boyd yawned at him from the bed in the roomthey were sharing. "stepping out?" he said. "i am," malone said with restraint. he whippedthe tie round his neck and drew it under the collar.

"anybody i know?" "i am meeting lady barbara, if you wish toknow," malone said. "my god," boyd said. "come down. relax. anyhow,i've got a question for you. there was one little thing her everlovin' majesty didn'texplain." "yes?" said malone. "well, about those hoods who tried to gunus down," boyd said. "who hired 'em? and why?" "dowson," malone said. "he wanted to killus off, and then kidnap logan from the hotel room. but we foiled his plan-”by killinghis hoods. by the time he could work up something else, we were on our way to yucca flats."

"great," boyd said. "and how did you findout this startling piece of information? there haven't been any reports in from las vegas,have there?" "no," malone said. "okay," 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 was something special. he wasn't, he knew. he was just lucky. "her majesty informed me," malone said.

"her-”" boyd stood with his mouth droppedopen, like a fish waiting for some bait. "you mean she knew?" "well," malone said, "she did know the guysin the buick weren't the best 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 of great aplomb,and went slowly to the door. "and she knew we were a good team. she got that from ourminds, too." "but," boyd said. after a second he said:"but," again, and followed it with: "why didn't she tell us?" malone opened the door.

"her majesty wished to see the queen's ownfbi in action," said sir kenneth malone.

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