"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 responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"
Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning 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 Her
Majesty." He paused and gulped. "I except the FBI, of course--and
ourselves." Another pause. "And Dr. O'Connor and Dr. Gamble."
"And," said Lady Barbara, "me." She smiled sweetly at them all.
"Ah," the psychiatrist said. "Certainly. Of course." He retired into
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--but she--" and closed her
mouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen.
"Well, Your Majesty?" he said. "You have seen the 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's the
important thing, you know. Their belief in us.... Just as you said
that first day we met. We've needed belief for so long ... for so
long...." Her voice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a
constellation of thoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her
Majesty.
Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. "How about the
spy?" he said.
Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenly
forward. "That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity
because of insanity," he whispered. "Because--"
"No," Barbara said. "No. She couldn't--she's not--"
They were all looking at Her Majesty, now. She returned them stare for
stare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in the
room's light. "Sir Kenneth," she said--and her voice was only the
least bit unsteady--"they all think _I'm_ the spy."
Barbara stood up. "Listen," she said. "I didn't like Her Majesty at
first--well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when she started
putting on airs ... but since I've gotten to know her I do like her.
I like her because she's good and kind herself, and because--because
she wouldn't be a spy. She couldn't be. No matter what any of you
think--even you--Sir Kenneth!"
There was a second of silence.
"Of course she's not," Malone said quietly. "She's no spy."
"Would I spy on my own subjects?" she said. "Use your reason!"
"You mean--" Burris began, and Boyd finished for him:
"--she isn't?"
"No," Malone snapped. "She isn't. Remember, you said it would take a
telepath to catch a telepath?"
"Well--" Burris began.
"Well, Her Majesty remembered it," Malone said. "And acted on it."
Barbara remained standing. She went to the Queen and put an arm 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 Kenneth has seen the truth of
the matter. Listen to him."
"Her Majesty not only caught the spy," Malone said, "but she turned
the spy right over to us."
He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door.
_I really ought to get a sword_, he thought, and didn't see Her
Majesty smile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said
quietly: "Bring him in, boys."
The FBI men from Las Vegas marched in. Between them was their
prisoner, a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a straitjacket that
seemed to make no difference at all to him. His mind was--somewhere
else. But his body was trapped between the FBI agents: the body of
William Logan.
"Impossible," one of the psychiatrists said.
Malone spun on his heel and led the way back to the throne. Logan and
his guards followed closely.
"Your Majesty," Malone said. "May I present the prisoner?"
"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "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. "How the hell did _you_ know any
of this?"
Malone bowed to Her Majesty, and winked at Barbara. He turned to
Burris. "Well," he said, "I had one piece of information none of the
rest of you had. When we were in the Desert Edge Sanatorium, Dr.
Dowson called you on the phone. Remember?"
"Sure I remember," Burris said. "So?"
"Well," Malone said, "Her Majesty said she knew just where the spy
was. I asked her where--"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Burris screamed. "You knew all this time and
you didn't tell me?"
"Hold on," Malone said. "I asked her where--and she said: 'He's right
there.' And she was pointing right at your image on the screen."
Burris opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it and tried
again. At last he managed one word.
"Me?" he said.
"You," Malone said. "But that's what I realized later. She wasn't
pointing at you. She was pointing at Logan, who was in the next room."