ul Queen of England.

She claimed she was immortal, which was not true. She also claimed to
be a telepath. This was perfectly accurate. It had been her help that
had enabled Malone to find the telepathic spy, and a grateful
government had rewarded her.

It had given her a special expense allotment for life, covering the
clothing she wore, and the style in which she lived. Rooms had been
set aside for her at Yucca Flats, and she held court there, sometimes
being treated by psychiatrists and sometimes helping Dr. Thomas
O'Connor in his experiments and in the development of new psionic
machines.

She was probably the happiest psychopath on Earth.

Malone stared at her. For a second he could think of nothing to say
but, "My God." He said it.

"Not at all, Sir Kenneth," the little old lady said. "Your Queen."

Malone took a deep breath. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he said.

"Good afternoon, Sir Kenneth," she said, and waited. After a second
Malone figured out what she was waiting for.

He inclined his head in as courtly a bow as he could manage over a
visiphone. "I am deeply honored," he said, "that Your Majesty has
called on me. Is there any way in which I might be of service?"

"Oh, goodness me, no," said the little old lady. "I don't need a
thing. They do one very well here in Yucca Flats. You must come out
soon and see my new throne room. I've had the decorations done by--but
I can see you're not interested in that, Sir Kenneth."

"But--" Malone realized it was useless to argue with the old lady. She
was telepathic, and knew exactly what he was thinking. That, after
all, was how he had been located; she had mentally "hunted" for him
until she found him.

But why?

"I'll tell you why, Sir Kenneth," the little old lady said. "I'm
worried about you."

"Worried? About me, Your Majesty?"

"Certainly," the little old lady said, inclining her head just the
proper number of degrees, and raising it again. "You, Sir Kenneth, and
that silly little notebook you lost. You've been stewing about it for
the last hour."

It was obvious that, for reasons of her own, the Queen had seen fit to
look into Malone's mind. She'd found him worrying, and called him
about it. It was, Malone thought, sweet of her in a way. But it was
also just a bit disconcerting.

He was perfectly well aware that the Queen could read his mind at any
distance. But unless something reminded him of the fact, he didn't
have to think about it.