would try to do him favors.

Unfortunately, he couldn't take the vow at once. During his absence,
his desk log showed, several calls had come in, all of which had to be
taken care of at once. Some of them dealt with evidence or statements
from old cases, some were just nuisances. The most urgent was from Dr.
O'Connor at Yucca Flats.

"If you're not too busy," O'Connor said in his icily polite tone, "I
would like to have Miss Thompson back as soon as possible." He sounded
as if Malone had borrowed his scalpel.

"I'll see what I can do," Malone said carefully.

"There is a new series of tests," O'Connor said, "on which I am now at
work; the assistance of Miss Thompson would be invaluable to me at
this time."

After he'd hung up, Malone called Her Majesty at her Washington hotel.
She was very glad of the chance to return to Yucca Flats, she said.
There, Malone knew, she would be able to return to her accustomed
dignity as Queen of the Greater English Commonwealth, a district
which, in her mind, seemed to include the greater part of the Western
world. On her present mission, she was plain Miss Thompson and, though
the idea of going about incognito had its charms, it became a little
dull after awhile. The adventuring was fine, although a little rougher
than she'd thought it would be; the sight of the Queen's Own FBI in
action was still a powerful attraction for Her Majesty. But the peace
and quiet and dignity of Her Own Royal Palace won out without too much
trouble.

"Of course," Malone said, "you'll be on call in case I need you."

"I am always in touch with my subjects," Her Majesty said with
dignity, "and most especially with you, Sir Kenneth. I shall so
remain."

And then there was a little paperwork to take care of. By the time
Malone had finished, he would have been glad to teleport to New York
on his own. But on reflection he decided that he would much rather
travel with Lou, and hurried down to the airport.

By the time the plane landed at La Guardia, and they'd taken
a 'copter to the East Side Terminal and a taxi to the big
blue-aluminum-and-glass Ravell Building, Malone had reached a new
decision. It would be nothing short of wonderful, he felt, if he
could spend the rest of his life traveling around with Luba Garbitsch.

Of course, that name was something of a handicap. It was hardly a
romantic one. He wondered, very briefly, whether or not "Luba Malone"
were an improvement. But he buried the thought