“Damn it,” Boyd exploded, “let me find out for myself, will you? You’re spoiling all the fun.” “Well, anyhow,” Malone said, “they don’t.” “You can’t afford to take any chances,” Boyd said. “After all, when I think about William Logan, I tell myself we’d better take care of every lead.” “Well,” Malone said finally, “you may be right. And then again, you may be normally wrong.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Boyd said. “How should I know?” Malone said. “I’m too busy to go around and around like this. But since you’ve picked the spies up, I suppose it won’t do any harm to find out if they know anything.” Boyd snorted again. “Thank you,” he said, “for your kind permission.” “I’ll be right down,” Malone said. “I’ll be waiting,” Boyd said. “In Interrogation Room 7. You’ll recognize me by the bullet hole in my forehead and the strange South American poison, hitherto unknown to science, in my esophagus.” “Very funny,” Malone said. “Don’t give up the ship.” Boyd switched off without a word. Malone shrugged at the blank screen and pushed his own switch. Then he turned slowly back to Her Majesty, who was standing, waiting patiently, at the opposite side of the desk. Interference, he thought, located around him.... “Why yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I did say.” Malone blinked. “Your Majesty,” he said, “would you mind terribly if I asked you questions before you answered them? I know you can see them in my mind, but it’s simpler for me to do things the normal way, just now.” “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I do agree that matters are confused enough already. Please go on.” “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Malone said. “Well, then. Do you mean that _I’m_ the one causing all this mental static?” “Oh, no,” she said. “Not at all. It’s definitely coming from somewhere else, and it’s beamed at you, or beamed around you.” “But—” “It’s just that I can only pick it up when I’m tuned to your mind,” she said. “Like now?” Malone said. She shook her head. “Right now,” she said, “there isn’t any. It only happens every once in awhile, every so often, and not continuously.” “Does it happen at regular intervals?” Malone asked. “Not as far as I’ve been able to tell,” Her Majesty said. “It just happens, that’s all. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Except that it did start when you were assigned to this case.” “Lovely,” Malone said. “Perfectly lovely. And what is it supposed to mean?” “Interference,” she said. “Static. Jumble. That’s all it means. I just don’t know any more than that, Sir Kenneth; I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. It really does disturb me.” That, Malone told himself, he could believe. It must be an experience, he told himself, like having someone you were looking at suddenly dissolve into a jumble of meaningless shapes and lights. “That’s a very good analogy,” Her Majesty said. “If you’ll pardon me speaking before you’ve voiced your thought.” “Not at all,” Malone said. “Go right ahead.”