"Mr. Malone," she said. "You've been thinking." She stopped. "I mean, you've been so quiet."
"I like being quiet," Malone said patiently. "Besides—" He stopped and turned to the little old lady. Can you really read my mind? he thought deliberately. After a second he added: … your Majesty?
"How sweet of you, Mr. Malone," she said. "Nobody's called me that for centuries. But of course I can. Although it's not reading, really. After all, that would be like asking if I can read your voice. Of course I can, Mr. Malone."
"That does it," Malone said. "I'm not a hard man to convince. And when I see the truth, I'm the first one to admit it, even if it makes me look like a nut." He turned back to the little old lady. "Begging your pardon," he said.
"Oh, my," the little old lady said. "I really don't mind at all. Sticks and stones, you know, can break my bones. But being called nuts, Mr. Malone, can never hurt me. After all, it's been so many years—so many hundreds of years—"
"Sure," Malone said easily.
Boyd broke in. "Listen, Malone," he said. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
"It's very simple," Malone said. "Miss Thompson here—pardon me; I mean Queen Elizabeth I—really is a telepath. That's all. I think I want to lie down somewhere until it goes away."
"Until what goes away?" Miss Wilson said.
Malone stared at her almost without seeing her, if not quite.
"Everything," he said. He closed his eyes.