at made five.

Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reason
why not.

"Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you,
Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles."

Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?"

"That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your FBI
men found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to Yucca
Flats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?"

Lady Barbara cleared her throat.

"It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear,"
the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking."

Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about that
nap--" she began.

"My dear girl," the Queen said, with the faintest trace of impatience,
"I do not feel the least bit tired, and this is such an exciting day
that I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told you
I don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen--no
matter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn to
understand that, dear."

Lady Barbara opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it once more.
"My goodness," she said.

"That's the idea," Her Majesty said approvingly. "Think before you
speak--and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I know
what you're thinking."

Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath ... this Barry Miles. Did
they find him--"

"In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, Sir
Kenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths went
insane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, and
because no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed you
could see?"

"Strange," Malone admitted.

"There," Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane--it's sort
of an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane."

"Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps they
would turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational.

"There's me, of course," Her Majesty said.

Lady Barbara gulped audibly. Boyd said nothing, but gripped the wheel of
the car more tightly.

And Malone thought to himself: _That's right. There's Queen
Elizabeth--who says she isn't crazy._

And then he thought of one more sane telepath. But the knowledge did not
make him feel any better.

It was, of course, the spy.

How many more are going to turn up? Malone wondered.

"