At his signal, the two plainclothes FBI men took over from the attendants. They marched Logan out to their car, and Malone led the procession back to Boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted--in order--of Sir Kenneth Malone, prospective Duke of Columbia, Queen Elizabeth I, Lady Barbara, prospective Duchess of an unspecified county, and Sir Thomas Boyd, prospective Duke of Poughkeepsie. Malone hummed a little of "Pomp and Circumstance" as they walked; somehow, he thought it was called for. They piled into the car, Boyd at the wheel with Malone next to him, and the two ladies in back, with Queen Elizabeth sitting directly behind Sir Thomas. Boyd started the engine and they turned and roared off. "Well," said Her Majesty with an air of great complacence, "that's that. That makes six of us." Malone looked around the car. He counted the people. There were four. He said, puzzled: "Six?" "That's right, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "You have it exactly. Six." "You mean six telepaths?" Sir Thomas asked in a deferent tone of voice. "Certainly I do," Her Majesty replied. "We telepaths, you know, must stick together. That's the reason I got poor little Willie out of that sanitarium of his, you know--and, of course, the others will be joining us." "Don't you think it's time for your nap, dear?" Lady Barbara put in suddenly. "My _what_?" It was obvious that Queen Elizabeth was Not Amused. "Your nap, dear," Lady Barbara said. "Don't call me 'dear,'" Her Majesty snapped. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Barbara murmured. "But really--" "My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I am not a child. I am your sovereign. Do try to have a little respect. Why, I remember when Shakespeare used to say to me--but that's no matter, not now." "About those telepaths--" Boyd began. "Telepaths," Her Majesty said. "Ah, yes. We must all stick together. In the hospital, you know, we had a little joke--the patients for Insulin Shock Therapy used to say: 'If we don't stick together, we'll all be stuck separately.' Do you see, Sir Thomas?" "But," Sir Kenneth Malone said, trying desperately to return to the point. "_Six?_" He had counted them up in his mind. Burris had mentioned one found in St. Elizabeths, and two more picked up later. With Queen Elizabeth, and now William Logan, that made five. Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reason why not. "Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you, Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles." Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?" "That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your FBI men found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to Yucca Flats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?" Lady Barbara cleared her throat. "It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear," the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking." Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about that nap--" she began.