And Boyd, surprisingly enough, seemed to feel the same way. Malone felt good about that; Her Majesty needed all the loyal supporters she could get. But all of this was later. At the time, Malone was doing nothing except what came naturally. Nor, apparently, was Boyd. After the glasses had been thrown, with a terrifying crash, into the metal wastebasket, and the reverberations of that second had stopped ringing in their ears, a moment of silence had followed. Then Boyd turned, briskly rubbing his hands. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get back to work.” Malone looked at the proud, happy look on Her Majesty’s face; he saw the glimmer of a tear in the corner of each eye. But he gave no indication that he had noticed anything at all out of the ordinary. “Fine,” he said. “Now, getting on back to the facts, we’ve established something, anyhow. Some agency is causing flashes of telepathic static all over the place. And those flashes are somehow connected with the confusion that’s going on all around us. Somehow, these flashes have an effect on the minds of people.” “And we know at least one manifestation of that effect,” Boyd said. “It makes spies blab all their secrets when they’re exposed to it.” “These three spies, anyhow,” Malone said. “If spies is the right word,” Boyd said. “Okay,” Malone said. “And now we’ve got another obvious question.” “It seems to me we’ve got about twelve,” Boyd said. “I mean, who’s doing it?” Malone said. “Who is causing these telepathic flashes?” “Maybe it’s just happening,” Boyd said. “Out of thin air.” “Maybe,” Malone said. “But let’s go on the assumption that there’s a human cause. The other way, we can’t do a thing except sit back and watch the world go to hell.” Boyd nodded. “It doesn’t seem to be the Russians,” he said. “Although, of course, it might be a Red herring.” “What do you mean?” Malone said. “Well,” Boyd said, “they might have known we were on to Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch—” He stopped. “You know,” he said, “every time I say that name I have to reassure myself that we’re not all walking around in the world of Florenz Ziegfeld.” “Likewise,” Malone said. “But go on.” “Sure,” Boyd said. “Anyhow, they might have set the three of them up as patsies, just in case we stumbled on to this mess. We can’t overlook this possibility.” “Right,” Malone said. “It’s faint, but it is a possibility. In other words, the agency behind the flashes might be Russian, and it might not be Russian.” “That clears that up nicely,” Boyd said. “Next question?” “The next one,” Malone said grimly, “is, what’s behind the flashes? Some sort of psionic power is causing them, that much is obvious.” “I’ll go along with that,” Boyd said. “I have to go along with it. But don’t think I like it.” “Nobody likes it,” Malone said. “But let’s go on. O’Connor isn’t any help; he washes his hands of the whole business.” “Lucky man,” Boyd said.