Dr. Dowson looked at them sourly. "Does he have to get dressed up like a masquerade, too?" Before Malone could answer, the psychiatrist added: "Anyhow, I don't even know you're FBI men. After all, why should I comply with orders from a group of men, dressed insanely, whom I don't even know?" Malone didn't say anything. He just got up and walked to a phone on a small table, near the wall. Next to it was a door, and Malone wondered uncomfortably what was behind it. Maybe Dr. Dowson had a small arsenal there, to protect his patients and prevent people from pirating them. He looked back at the set and dialed Burris' private number in Washington. When the director's face appeared on the screen, Malone said: "Mr. Burris, will you please identify me to Dr. Dowson?" He looked over at Dowson. "You recognize Mr. Andrew J. Burris, I suppose?" he said. Dowson nodded. His grim face showed a faint shock. He walked to the phone, and Malone stepped back to let him talk with Burris. "My name is Dowson," he said. "I'm psychiatric director here at Desert Edge Sanitarium. And your men--" "My men have orders to take a William Logan from your care," Burris said. "That's right," Dowson said. "But--" While they were talking, Queen Elizabeth I sidled quietly up to Malone and tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir Kenneth," she whispered in the faintest of voices, "I know where your telepathic spy is. And I know _who_ he is." "Who?" Malone said. "What? Why? Where?" He blinked and whirled. It couldn't be true. They couldn't solve the case so easily. But the Queen's face was full of a majestic assurance. "He's right there," she said, and she pointed. Malone followed her finger. It was aimed directly at the glowing image of Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI. [Illustration: "Not legally responsible, of course...."] V Malone opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even air. He wasn't breathing. He stared at Burris for a long moment, then took a breath and looked again at Her Majesty. "The spy?" he whispered. "That's right," she said. "But that's--" He had to fight for control. "That's the head of the FBI," he managed to say. "Do you mean to say he's a spy?" Burris was saying: "... I'm afraid this is a matter of importance, Dr. Dowson. We cannot tolerate delay. You have the court order. Obey it." "Very well, Mr. Burris," Dowson said with an obvious lack of grace. "I'll release him to Mr. Malone immediately, since you insist." Malone stared, fascinated. Then he turned back to the little old lady. "Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that Andrew J. Burris is a telepathic spy?" "Oh, dear me," Her Majesty said, obviously aghast. "My goodness gracious. Is that Mr. Burris on the screen?"