"What's this all about?" Burris snapped.
"Just a minute, Sir Andrew," Malone said. "I'd like to ask one of the doctors here—or all of them, for that matter—one more question." He whirled and faced them. "I'm assuming that not one of these persons is legally responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"
Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning to remind Malone of a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms.
Finally one of them said: "You are correct. According to the latest statutes, all of these persons are legally insane—including Her Majesty." He paused and gulped. "I except the FBI, of course—and ourselves." Another pause. "And Dr. O'Connor and Dr. Gamble."
"And," said Lady Barbara, "me." She smiled sweetly at them all.
"Ah," the psychiatrist said. "Certainly. Of course." He retired into his group with some confusion.
Malone was looking straight at the throne. Her Majesty's countenance was serene and unruffled.
Barbara said suddenly: "You don't mean ... but she—" and closed her mouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen.
"Well, Your Majesty?" he said. "You have seen the thoughts of every man here. How do they appear to you?"
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.