“Darn good,” Burris said. “Malone, I knew I could depend on you. You’re a good man.” Malone swallowed hard. “Well, anyway,” he said after a pause, “when I saw that I began to remember a few other things. Starting with a couple of years ago, when we first found Her Majesty, remember?” “I’ll never forget it,” Burris said fervently. “She knighted me. Knight Commander of the Queen’s Own FBI. What a moment.” “Thrilling,” Malone said. “But you got to Yucca Flats for your knighting awfully quickly, a little too fast even for a modern plane.” “It had to be done,” Burris said. “Anyhow, I’ve never really liked planes. Basically unsafe. People crash in them.” “But you wouldn’t,” Malone said. “You could always teleport yourself out.” “Sure,” Burris said. “But that’s troublesome. Why bother? Anyhow, I’d been to Yucca Flats before, so I could teleport there—a little way down the road, where I could meet my car—without any trouble.” “Anyhow, that was one thing,” Malone said. “And then there was Her Majesty, when she pointed at that visiphone screen and accused you of being the telepathic spy. Remember?” “She wasn’t pointing at me,” Burris said. “She was pointing at the man in the next room. How about you doing some remembering?” “Sure she was,” Malone said. “But it was just a little coincidence. And I have a hunch she felt, subconsciously, that there was something not quite right about you.” “Maybe,” Burris conceded. “But that doesn’t answer my question.” “It doesn’t?” Malone said. “Now look, Malone,” Burris said. “None of this is proof. Not real proof. Not the kind the FBI has trained you to look for.” “But—” “What I want to know,” Burris said, “is why you came here, to my home? And in spite of everything you’ve said, that hasn’t been tied down.” Malone frowned. After a second’s thought he said, “Well.... All I know is that it just seemed obvious. That’s all.” “Indeed it is,” Sir Lewis said. “But one of the things we’ll have to teach you, my boy, is how to distinguish between a deduction from observed fact and a psionic intuition. You’ve been confusing them for some years now.” “I have?” Malone said. “Sure you have,” Burris said. “And, what’s more—” “Well, he’s no worse than you are, Andrew,” Lou said. Burris turned. “Me?” he said in a voice of withering scorn. “Certainly,” Lou said. “After all, you’ve never really become used to mixtures of thought and speech. And, what’s more, you’ve been using telepathy so long that when you try to communicate with nothing but words you only confuse yourself.” “And everybody else,” Sir Lewis added. “Hmpf,” Burris said. “I’m busy all the time. I haven’t got any extra time for practice.” Malone nodded, comparatively unsurprised. He’d wondered for years how a man so obviously unable to express himself clearly could run an organization like the FBI as well as he did. Having psionic abilities evidently led to drawbacks as well as advantages. “Actually,” he said, “my prescience made one mistake.”