en 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. "You recognize Mr. Andrew J. Burris, I suppose?" he
said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malone followed her finger.

It was aimed directly at the glowing image of Andrew J. Burris, Director
of the FBI.

[Illustration: "Not legally responsible, of course...."]

V

Malone opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even air.

He wasn't breathing.

He stared at Burris for a long moment, then took a breath and 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 say he's a spy?"

Burris was saying: "... I'm afraid this is a matter of importance, Dr.
Dowson. We cannot tolerate delay. You have the court order. Obey it."

"Very well, Mr. Burris," Dowson said with an obvious lack of grace.
"I'll release him to Mr. Malone immediately, since you insist."

Malone stared, fascinated. Then he turned back to the little old lady.
"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that Andrew J. Burris is a
telepathic spy?"

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

"It is," Malone assured her. A look out of the corner of his eye told
him that neither Burris, in Washington, nor Dowson or any others in the
room, had heard any of the conversation. Malone lowered his whisper some
more, just in case. "That's the head of the FBI," he said.

"Well, then," Her Majesty said, "Mr. Burris couldn't possibly be a spy,
then, c