"Sure he is," Malone said. "He's got a nice blackjack, too--basically." He grimaced. "Were you reading my mind all last night?" he said. "Well," the Queen said, "no. Toward morning you were getting so fuzzy I just didn't bother." "I can understand that," Malone said. "I nearly didn't bother myself." The Queen nodded. "But toward afternoon," she said, "I didn't have anything to do, so I just listened in. You do have such a nice mind, Sir Kenneth--so refreshing and different. Especially when you're in love." Malone blushed quietly. "Oh, I know," the Queen said. "You'd much rather think of yourself as a sort of apprentice lecher, a kind of cynical Don Juan, but--" "I know," Malone said. "Don't tell me about it. All right?" "Of course, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said, "if you wish it." "Basically, I'm a nice boy," Malone said. "Sure I am." He paused. "Do you have any more pertinent information, Your Majesty?" "Not right now," the Queen admitted. "But if I do, I'll let you know." She giggled. "You know, I had to argue awfully hard with Dr. Hatterer to get to use the telephone," she said. "I'll bet," Malone said. "But I did manage," she said, and winked. "I won't have that sort of trouble again." Malone wondered briefly what dark secret Dr. Hatterer had, that Her Majesty had discovered in his mind and used to blackmail him with. At last he decided that it was probably none of his business, and didn't matter too much anyway. "Quite right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "And good-bye for now." "Good-bye, Your Majesty," Malone said. He bowed again, and flipped off the phone. Bowing in a phone booth wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, he thought to himself. But somehow he had managed it. * * * * * He reached into his pocket--half-convinced, for one second, that it was an Elizabethan belt-pouch. Talks with Her Majesty always had that effect; after a time, Malone came to believe in her strange, bright world. But he shook off the lingering effects of her psychosis, fished out some coins and thought for a minute. So Dorothy--Dorothea--had lifted the notebook. That was some help, certainly. It let him know something more about the enemy he was facing. But it wasn't really a lot of help. What did he do now? Her Majesty had suggested going to the Fueyo house, collaring the girl--but treating her nicely, Malone reminded himself--and demanding the book back. She'd even said he would get the book back--and, since she knew some of what went on in Dorothea Fueyo's mind, she was probably right. But what good was that going to do him? He knew what was in the book. Getting it back was something that could wait. It didn't sound particularly profitable and it didn't even sound like fun.