The little old lady cleared her throat. A silence fell. When it was complete she spoke, and her voice was as sweet and kindly as anything Malone had ever heard. "You may call me Miss Thompson," she said. "For the present, at any rate. They all do here. It's a pseudonym I have to use." "A pseudonym?" Malone said. "You see, Mr. Malone," Miss Wilson began. Malone stopped her. "Don't talk," he said. "I have to concentrate and if you talk I can barely think." He took off his hat suddenly, and began twisting the brim in his hands. "You understand, don't you?" The trace of a smile appeared on her face. "I think I do," she said. "Now," Malone said. "You're Miss Thompson, but not really, because you have to use a pseudonym." He blinked at the little old lady. "Why?" "Well," she said, "otherwise people would find out about my little secret." "Your little secret," Malone said. "That's right," the little old lady said. "I'm immortal, you see." Malone said: "Oh." Then he kept quiet for a long time. It didn't seem to him that anyone in the room was breathing. He said: "Oh," again, but it didn't sound any better than it had the first time. He tried another phrase. "You're immortal," he said. "That's right," the little old lady agreed sweetly. There was only one other question to ask, and Malone set his teeth grimly and asked it. It came out just a trifle indistinct, but the little old lady nodded. "My real name?" she said. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Tudor, of course. I used to be Queen." "Of England," Malone said faintly. "Malone, look--" Boyd began. "Let me get it all at once," Malone told him. "I'm strong. I can take it." He twisted his hat again and turned back to the little old lady. "You're immortal, and you're not really Miss Thompson, but Queen Elizabeth I?" he said slowly. "That's right," she said. "How clever of you. Of course, after little Jimmy--cousin Mary's boy, I mean--said I was dead and claimed the Throne, I decided to change my name and all. And that's what I did. But I am Elizabeth Regina." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled merrily. Malone stared at her for a long minute. _Burris_, he thought, _is going to love this._ "Oh, I'm so glad," the little old lady said. "Do your really think he will? Because I'm sure I'll like your Mr. Burris, too. All of you FBI men are so charming. Just like poor, poor Essex." Well, Malone told himself, that was that. He'd found himself a telepath. And she wasn't an imbecile. Oh, no. That would have been simple. Instead, she was battier than a cathedral spire. * * * * * The long silence was broken by the voice of Miss Wilson. "Mr. Malone," she said. "You've been thinking." She stopped. "I mean, you've been so quiet." "I like being quiet," Malone said patiently. "Besides--" He stopped and turned to the little old lady. _Can you really read my mind?_ he thought deliberately. After a second he added: ... _your Majesty?_