"Vaguely," Malone said. "But how did Dowson get his information? I had everything worked out but that."
"I know you did," the Queen said, "and I'm proud of you. I intend to award you with the Order of the Bath for this day's work."
Unaccountably, Malone's chest swelled with pride.
"As for Dr. Dowson," the Queen said, "that traitor—hurtWillie. If he's hurt enough, he'll come back." Her eyes weren't hard any more. "He didn't want to be a spy, really," she said, "but he's just a boy, and it must have sounded rather exciting. He knew that if he told Dowson everything he'd found out, they'd let him go—go away again."
There was a long silence.
"Well," Malone said, "that about wraps it up. Any questions?"
He looked around at the men, but before any of them could speak up HerMajesty rose.
"I'm sure there are questions," she said, "but I'm really very tired. My lords, you are excused." She extended a hand. "Come, Lady Barbara," she said. "I think I really may need that nap, now."
* * * * *
Malone put the cufflinks in his shirt with great care. They were great stones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessary Elizabethan flair.
Not that he was wearing the costumes of the Queen's Court now. Instead, he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white- on-white shirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from his closet rack.
Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing."Stepping out?" he said.
"I am," Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neck and drew it under the collar.
"Anybody I know?"
"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you wish to know," Malone said.
"My God," Boyd said. "Come down. Relax. Anyhow, I've got a question for you. There was one little thing Her Everlovin' Majesty didn't explain."
"Yes?" said Malone.
"Well, about those hoods who tried to gun us down," Boyd said. "Who hired 'em? And why?"
"Dowson," Malone said. "He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Logan from the hotel room. But we foiled his plan—by killing his hoods. By the time he could work up something else, we were on our way to Yucca Flats."
"Great," Boyd said. "And how did you find out this startling piece of information? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, have there?"
"No," Malone said.
"Okay," Boyd said. "I give up, Mastermind."
Malone wished Boyd would stop using that nickname. The fact was—as he, and apparently nobody else, was willing to recognize—that he wasn't anything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he was something special.
He wasn't, he knew. He was just lucky.
"Her Majesty informed me," Malone said.
"Her—" Boyd stood with his mouth dropped open, like a fish waiting for some bait. "You mean she knew?"
"Well," Malone said, "she did know the guys in the Buick weren't the best in the business—and she knew all about the specially-built FBI Lincoln. She got that from our minds." He knotted his tie with an air of great aplomb, and went slowly to the door. "And she knew we were a good team. She got that from our minds, too."
"But," Boyd said. After a second he said: "But," again, and followed it with: "Why didn't she tell us?"
Malone opened the door.
"Her Majesty wished to see the Queen's Own FBI in action," said SirKenneth Malone.