Malone blinked. “Others?” he said. She nodded. “Grumpy, Sleepy, Happy, Dopey, Bashful and Doc,” she said. Malone opened his mouth, shut it again, and thought for a second. “Now, wait a minute,” he said at last. “That’s not fair. I—” “Oh,” she said. “And I nearly forgot. I owe you one from last time: _gesundheit_.” “And many happy returns,” Malone said. “Seriously, what are you doing out here?” “Talking,” the girl said. “To you. Or hadn’t you noticed?” “I mean in general,” Malone said desperately. “In general,” she said agreeably, “I’m here to take a little trip.” “Oh,” Malone said. “By plane?” She smiled sweetly and shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. “I’m waiting for the next scheduled broomstick.” Malone took a deep breath. “When does your plane leave?” he said doggedly. “In ten minutes or so,” she said. “Then you’d better hurry and get on,” he said. She nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she said. A second passed. “Did you want to say something?” Malone said uncomfortably. She shook her head. “Not particularly,” she said. “Well, then—” “The time _is_ growing short,” she said. “Isn’t it, though?” Malone said, feeling a little mystified. “Well, now. Goodbye. I’ll see you soon.” “Goodbye,” she said. Another second passed. “Your plane—” Malone started. “How about yours?” she said. “I’m all right,” Malone said nervously. “But if your plane’s leaving in ten minutes you’d better get on it.” “I intend to,” she said, without moving. “Well—” Malone started. “As soon as you quit blocking the ramp,” she said. “Would you mind terribly if I climbed over your head? Because I do have to get on board.” “Now wait a minute,” Malone said. “This isn’t your plane.” “How do you know?” she said. “Do you own it? Are you flying it away?” “Well,” Malone said helplessly, “it’s my plane, and there’s nobody going on it but—” He paused. A great light seemed to burst in his mind, shedding a perfectly horrible glow over the wreck of his mental processes. “You know,” he said in a tentative tone, “we never have been properly introduced. I only know your name is Lou.” “That’s what people call me,” the girl said. “For short. I’m Luba Garbitsch.” “And I’m Kenneth Malone,” Malone said. “Kenneth J. Malone. Of the FBI.” She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I know.” “Your father—” “My father is going to Russia,” she said, “and I am going along with him.” “Oh,” Malone said. “Sure. Sure. Oh.” There was a longer silence. “Can I get on board now?” Luba said. “There isn’t any hurry,” Malone said. “We’re still waiting for—for passengers. And this is one of them.” He turned and indicated the Queen. “This is Her—Rose Thompson. She’ll be traveling along with us.” Her Majesty was wearing a broad, broad grin, Malone noticed nervously as he turned. Undoubtedly she had been tuned in to the whole conversation, and knew just what had gone on in both minds. But she only said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, my dear.”