While they were dressing, Malone put in a call to Dr. O'Connor's office. The scientist was as frosty as ever. "Yes, Mr. Malone?" The sound of that voice, Malone reflected, was enough to give anybody double revolving pneumonia with knobs on. "Dr. O'Connor," he said, "Her Majesty wants you in her court in ten minutes--and in full court dress." O'Connor merely sighed, like Boreas. "What is this," he asked, "more tomfoolery?" "I really couldn't say," Malone told him coyly. "But I'd advise you to be there. It might interest you." "Interest me?" O'Connor stormed. "I've got work to do here--important work. You simply do not realize, Mr. Malone--" "Whatever I realize," Malone cut in, feeling brave, "I'm passing on orders from Her Majesty." "That insane woman," O'Connor stated flatly, "is not going to order me about. Good Lord, do you know what you're saying?" Malone nodded. "I certainly do," he said cheerfully. "If you'd rather, I can have the orders backed up by the United States Government. But that won't be necessary, will it?" "The United States Government," O'Connor said, thawing perceptibly about the edges, "ought to allow a man to do his proper work, and not force him to go chasing off after the latest whims of some insane old lady." "You will be there, now, won't you?" Malone asked. His own voice reminded him of something, and in a second he had it: the cooing, gentle persuasion of Dr. Andrew Blake of Rice Pavilion, who had locked Malone in a padded cell. It was the voice of a man talking to a mental case. It sounded remarkably apt. Dr. O'Connor went slightly purple, but controlled himself magnificently. "I'll be there," he said. "Good," Malone told him, and snapped the phone off. Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabeths and told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands of neurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply. Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was now assembling. Burris and the others were ready to go, sparklingly dressed and looking impatient. Malone put down the phone and took one great breath of relief. Then, beaming, he led the others out. * * * * * Ten minutes later, there were nine men in Elizabethan costume standing outside the room which had been designated as the Queen's Court. Dr. Gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve-ruffs were half way up to his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. The St. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little like moth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over with a somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the whole problem that had been plaguing them, but _his_ costume was a stunning, perfect fit. "Now, I want you men to let me handle this," Malone said. "I know just what I want to say, and I think I can get the information without too much trouble."