"If you'll sign these for the government," he said, "you may have Mr. Logan. There seems little else that I can do, Mr. Malone—in spite of my earnest pleas—"
"I'm sorry," Malone said. After all, he needed Logan, didn't he? After a look at the boy, he wasn't sure any more—but the Queen had said she wanted him, and the Queen's word was law. Or what passed for law, anyhow, at least for the moment.
Malone took the papers and looked them over. There was nothing special about them; they were merely standard release forms, absolving the staff and management of Desert Edge Sanitarium from every conceivable responsibility under any conceivable circumstances, as far as William Logan was concerned. Dr. Dowson gave Malone a look that said: "Very well, Mr. Malone; I will play Pilate and wash my hands of the matter—but you needn't think I like it." It was a lot for one look to say, but Dr. Dowson's dark and sunken eyes got the message across with no loss in transmission. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be more coming—a much less printable message was apparently on the way through those glittering, sad and angry eyes.
Malone avoided them nervously, and went over the papers again instead. At last he signed them and handed them back. "Thanks for your co-operation, Dr. Dowson," he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of a traitor.
"Not at all," Dowson said bitterly. "Mr. Logan is now in your custody. I must trust you to take good care of him."
"The best care we can," Malone said. It didn't seem sufficient. He added: "The best possible care, doctor," and tried to look dependable and trustworthy, like a Boy Scout. He was aware that the effort failed miserably.
At his signal, the two plainclothes FBI men took over from the attendants. They marched Logan out to their car, and Malone led the procession back to Boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted—in order—of Sir Kenneth Malone, prospective Duke of Columbia, Queen Elizabeth I, Lady Barbara, prospective Duchess of an unspecified county, and Sir Thomas Boyd, prospective Duke of Poughkeepsie. Malone hummed a little of "Pomp and Circumstance" as they walked; somehow, he thought it was called for.
They piled into the car, Boyd at the wheel with Malone next to him, and the two ladies in back, with Queen Elizabeth sitting directly behind Sir Thomas. Boyd started the engine and they turned and roared off.
"Well," said Her Majesty with an air of great complacence, "that's that. That makes six of us."
Malone looked around the car. He counted the people. There were four. He said, puzzled: "Six?"