"But," she said, "since it will make you feel so much better, doctor, we give you our Royal permission to retire, and to speak to Mr. Malone alone."
"Malone alone," Dr. Harman muttered. "Hm-m-m. My. Well." He turned and seemed to be surprised that Malone was actually standing near him. "Yes," he said. "Well. Mr. Alone ... Malone ... please, whoever you are, just come into my office, please?"
Malone looked at the little old lady. One of her eyes closed and opened. It was an unmistakable wink.
Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. "All right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned with the barest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him. Leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately, the startling Miss Wilson, behind, the procession filed back into Dr. Harman's office.
The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. He looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the world was square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even.
"Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicated chairs. "I really ... well, I don't know what to say. All this time, all these years, she's been reading my mind! My mind. She's been reading ... looking right into my mind, or whatever it is."
"Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had dropped gratefully into a chair near Boyd's, across the desk from Dr. Harman.
"Whatever my mind is," Dr. Harman said. "Reading it. Oh, my."
"Dr. Harman," Malone began, but the psychiatrist gave him a bright blank stare.