ould
be arranged." He looked at the agent narrowly. "I might even be able
to supply an FBI man or two," he added.

Malone swallowed hard. "I'm trying the best I can, sir," he said.
"What about the others?"

Burris looked even unhappier than usual. "Come along," he said. "I'll
show you."

When they got back to the car, Dr. Gamble was talking spiritedly with
Her Majesty about Roger Bacon. "Before my time, of course," the Queen
was saying, "but I'm sure he was a most interesting man. Now when dear
old Marlowe wrote his _Faust_, he and I had several long discussions
about such matters. Alchemy, Doctor--"

Burris interrupted with: "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but we must
get on. Perhaps you'll be able to continue your--ah--audience later."
He turned to Boyd. "Sir Thomas," he said with an effort, "drive
directly to the Westinghouse buildings. Over that way." He pointed.
"Dr. Gamble will ride with you, and the rest of us will follow in the
second car. Let's move."

He stepped back as the project head got into the car, and watched it
roar off. Then he and Malone went to the second car, another FBI
Lincoln. Two agents were sitting in the back seat, with a still figure
between them.

With a shock, Malone recognized William Logan and the agents he'd
detailed to watch the telepath. Logan's face did not seem to have
changed expression since Malone had seen it last, and he wondered
wildly if perhaps it had to be dusted once a week.

He got in behind the wheel and Burris slid in next to him.

"Westinghouse," Burris said. "And let's get there in a hurry."

"Right," Malone said, and started the car.

"We just haven't had a single lead," Burris said. "I was hoping you'd
come up with something. Your telegram detailed the fight, of course,
and the rest of what's been happening--but I hoped there'd be
something more."

"There isn't," Malone was forced to admit. "All we can do is try to
persuade Her Majesty to tell us--"

"Oh, I know it isn't easy," Burris said. "But it seems to me...."

By the time they'd arrived at the administrative offices of
Westinghouse's psionics research area, Malone found himself wishing
that something would happen. Possibly, he thought, lightning might
strike, or an earthquake swallow everything up. He was, suddenly,
profoundly tired of the entire affair.

8

Four days later, he was more than tired. He was exhausted. The six
psychopaths--including Her Ma