Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath—this Barry Miles. Did they find him—"
"In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, Sir Kenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths went insane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, and because no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed you could see?"
"Strange," Malone admitted.
"There," Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane—it's sort of an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane."
"Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps they would turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational.
"There's me, of course," Her Majesty said.
Lady Barbara gulped audibly. Boyd said nothing, but gripped the wheel of the car more tightly.
And Malone thought to himself: That's right. There's Queen
Elizabeth—who says she isn't crazy.
And then he thought of one more sane telepath. But the knowledge didn't make him feel any better.
It was, of course, the spy.