"I suppose so," Boyd said, and the phone rang. Malone picked it up.
"Well?" he asked.
"He was telling the truth, all right," Her Majesty said. "There are a
few more details, of course--there was a girl Brubitsch was involved
with, Sir Kenneth. But she doesn't seem to have anything to do with
the spy ring, and besides, she isn't a very nice person. She always
wants money."
"Sounds perfectly lovely," Malone said. "As a matter of fact, I think
I know her. I know a lot of girls who always want money."
"You don't know this one, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "and
besides, she wouldn't be a good influence on you."
Malone sighed. "How about the static explosions?" he said. "Pick up
any more?"
"No," she said. "Just that one."
Malone nodded at the receiver. "All right," he said. "We're going to
bring in the second one now. Keep up the good work."
He hung up.
"Who've you got in the Observation Room?" Boyd asked.
"Queen Elizabeth I," Malone said. "Her Royal Majesty."
"Oh," Boyd said without surprise. "Well, was Brubitsch telling the
truth?"
"He wasn't holding back anything important," Malone said, thinking
about the girl. It would be nice to meet a bad influence, he thought
mournfully. It would be nice to go somewhere with a bad influence--a
bad influence, he amended, with a good figure--and forget all about
his job, about the spies, about telepathy, teleportation, psionics and
everything else. It might be restful.
Unfortunately, it was impossible.
"What's this business about a static explosion?" Boyd said.
"Don't ask silly questions," Malone said. "A static explosion is a
contradiction in terms. If something is static, it doesn't move--and
whoever heard of a motionless explosion?"
"If it is a contradiction in terms," Boyd said, "they're your terms."
"Sure," Malone said. "But I don't know what they mean. I don't even
know what I mean."
"You're in a bad way," Boyd said, looking sympathetic.
"I'm in a perfectly terrible way," Malone said, "and it's going to get
worse. You wait and see."
"Of course I'll wait and see," Boyd said. "I wouldn't miss the end of
the world for anything. It ought to be a great spectacle." He paused.
"Want them to bring in the next one?"
"Sure," Malone said. "What have we got to lose but our minds? And who
is the next one?"
"Borbitsch," Boyd said. "They're saving Garbitsch for a big finish."
Malone nodded wearily. "Onward," he said, and picked up the phone. He
punched a number, spoke a few words and hung up.
A minute later, the four FBI agents came back, leading a man. This one
was tall and thin, with the expression of a gloomy, degenerate and
slightly nauseated bloodhound. He was led to the chair and he sat down
in it as if he expected the worst to start happening at once.
"Well," Malone said in a bored, tired voice. "So this is the one who
won't talk."