“Of course not,” Petkoff said, shifting slightly in his seat. The car took a wide curve and swayed slightly, and Malone found himself nearly in Lou’s lap. The sensation was so pleasant that all conversation was delayed for a couple of seconds, until the car had righted itself.
“So,” Malone went on when he had straightened out, “we decided to save ourselves the expense of a trial.”
“Very natural,” Petkoff said. The slight delay had apparently allowed him to recover his own mental balance. “The capitalist countries think only of money.”
“Sure,” Malone said agreeably. “Well, anyhow, that’s the way it was. There was no point, really, in putting them in prison—what for? What good could it do us?”
“Who knows?” Petkoff said.
“Exactly,” Malone said. “So, since all we wanted to do was get rid of them, and since we had an easy way to do that, why, we took it, that’s all, and shipped them here.”
“I see,” Petkoff said. “And the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is properly grateful.”
“My goodness,” Her Majesty put in, apparently out of an irrepressible sense of fun. “Maybe we’ll get medals.”
“Medals,” Petkoff said sternly, “are not given to capitalist agitators.”
“We are not agitated,” Her Majesty said, and folded her hands in her lap, looking quite satisfied with herself.