Her voice contained both tension and relief. "They are all good men, basically--and kind men," she said. "And they believe us. That's the important thing, you know. Their belief in us-- Just as you did that first day we met. We've needed belief for so long ... for so long--" Her voice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a constellation of thoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her Majesty. Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. "How about the spy?" he said. Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenly forward. "That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity because of insanity," he whispered. "Because--" "No," Barbara said. "No. She couldn't ... she's not--" They were all looking at Her Majesty, now. She returned them stare for stare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in the room's light. "Sir Kenneth," she said--and her voice was only the least bit unsteady--"they all think _I'm_ the spy." Barbara stood up. "Listen," she said. "I didn't like Her Majesty at first ... well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when she started putting on airs ... but since I've gotten to know her I do like her. I like her because she's good and kind herself, and because ... because she wouldn't be a spy. She couldn't be. No matter what any of you think ... even you ... Sir Kenneth!" There was a second of silence. "Of course she's not," Malone said quietly. "She's no spy." "Would I spy on my own subjects?" she said. "Use your reason!" "You mean...." Burris began, and Boyd finished for him: "... She isn't?" "No," Malone snapped. "She isn't. Remember, you said it would take a telepath to catch a telepath?" "Well--" Burris began. "Well, Her Majesty remembered it," Malone said. "And acted on it." Barbara remained standing. She went to the Queen and put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. Her Majesty did not object. "I knew," she said. "You couldn't have been a spy." "Listen, dear," the Queen said. "Your Kenneth has seen the truth of the matter. Listen to him." "Her Majesty not only caught the spy," Malone said, "but she turned the spy right over to us." He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door. _I really ought to get a sword_, he thought, and didn't see Her Majesty smile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said quietly: "Bring him in, boys." * * * * * The FBI men from Las Vegas marched in. Between them was their prisoner, a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a strait jacket that seemed to make no difference at all to him. His mind was--somewhere else. But his body was trapped between the FBI agents: the body of William Logan. "Impossible," one of the psychiatrists said. Malone spun on his heel and led the way back to the throne. Logan and his guards followed closely. "Your Majesty," Malone said, "may I present the prisoner?"