y, barely
nineteen. Malone had known that, of course--but seeing it was something
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, no terror or anger or fear. It was
merely--a blank.

It was not a human face. Its complete lack of emotion or expression
could have belonged to a sleeping child of ten--or to a member of a
different race. Malone looked at the boy, and looked away.

Was it possible that Logan knew what he was thinking?

_Answer me_, he thought, directly at the still boy.

There was no reply, none at all. Malone forced himself to look away. But
the air in the room seemed to have become much colder.

The attendants stood on either side of him, waiting. For one long second
no one moved, and then Dr. Dowson reached into his desk drawer 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--in spite of my
earnest pleas--"

"I'm sorry," Malone said. After all, he _needed_ Logan, didn't he? After
a look at the boy, he wasn't sure any more--but the Queen had said she
wanted him, and the Queen's word was law. Or what passed for law,
anyhow, at least for the moment.

Malone took the papers and looked them over. There was nothing special
about them; they were merely standard release forms, absolving the staff
and management of Desert Edge Sanitarium from every conceivable
responsibility under any conceivable circumstances, as far as William
Logan was concerned. Dr. Dowson gave Malone a look that said: "Very
well, Mr. Malone; I will play Pilate and wash my hands of the
matter--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 a matter of fact, there seemed to be more
coming--a much less printable message was apparently on the way through
those glittering, sad and angry eyes.

Malone avoided them nervously, and went over the papers again instead.
At last he signed them and handed them back. "Thanks for your
co-operation, Dr. Dowson," he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of a
traitor.

"Not at all," Dowson said bitterly. "Mr. Logan is now in your custody. I
must trust you to take good care of him."

"The best care we can," Malone said. It didn't seem sufficient. He
added: