Burris barely glanced at him. A startled expression came over his
features. "Has she--" he began, and stopped, leaving his mouth open
and the rest 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 lot of air
before you embarked on a sentence. "I believe, gentlemen," he said,
"that Her Majesty is about to reveal the identity of the spy who has
been battening on Project Isle."
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 headed for the door. The others
promptly followed.
"Gentlemen!" Malone said, sounding, as far as he could tell, properly
shocked and offended. "Your dress!"
"What?" Dr. Gamble said, throwing up both hands.
"Oh, _no_," Boyd chimed in. "Not now."
Burris simply said: "You're quite right. Get dressed, Boyd--I mean, of
course, Sir Thomas."
While they were dressing, Malone put in a call 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 wants you in her court in ten
minutes--and in full court dress."
O'Connor merely sighed, like Boreas. "What is 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 got work to do here--important
work. You simply do not realize, Mr. Malone--"
"Whatever I realize," Malone cut in, feeling brave, "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
that won'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, and not
force him to go chasing off after the latest whims of some insane old
lady."
"You will be there, now, won't you?" Malone asked. His own voice
reminded him of something, and in a second he had it: the cooing,
gentle persuasion of Dr. Andrew Blake of Rice Pavilion, who had locked
Malone in a padded cell. It was the voice of a man talking to a mental
case.
It sounded remarkably apt. Dr. O'Connor went slightly purple, but
controlled himself magnificently. "I'll be there," he said.
"Good," Malone told him, and snapped the phone off.
Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabeths
and told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands of
neurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply.
Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was now assembling.
Burris and the others were ready to go, sparklingly dressed and
looking 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 in Elizabethan costume standing
outside the room which had been designated as the Queen's Court. Dr.
Gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve-ruffs were half way
up to his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep.
The St. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little like
moth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over
with a somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the
whole problem that had been plaguing them, but _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 without too
much trouble."
One of the psychiatrists spoke up. "I trust you won't disturb the
patient, Mr. Malone," he said.
"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 came out of the huddle one of
them--Malone was never able to tell them apart--said: "Very well,
we'll let you handle it. But we will be forced to interfere if we feel
you're--ah--going too far."