e cuff links in his shirt with great care. They were great
stones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessary
Elizabethan flair.

Not that he was wearing the costume of the Queen's Court now. Instead,
he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white-on-white
shirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from his
closet rack.

Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing. "Stepping
out?" he said.

"I am," Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neck
and drew it under the collar.

"Anybody I know?"

"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you wish to know," Malone said.

"Come down," Boyd said. "Relax. Anyhow, I've got a question for you.
There was one little thing Her Everlovin' Majesty didn't explain."

"Yes?" said Malone.

"Well, about those hoods who tried to gun us down," Boyd said. "Who
hired 'em? And why?"

"Dowson," Malone said. "He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Logan
from the hotel room. But we foiled his plan--by killing his hoods. By
the time he could work up something else, we were on our way to Yucca
Flats."

"Great," Boyd said. "And how did you find out this startling piece of
information? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, have
there?"

"No," Malone said.

"O.K.," Boyd said. "I give up, Mastermind."

Malone wished Boyd would stop using that nickname. The fact was--as he,
and apparently nobody else, was willing to recognize--that he wasn't
anything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he was
something special.

He wasn't, he knew.

He was just lucky.

"Her Majesty informed me," Malone said.

"Her--" Boyd stood with his mouth dropped open, like a fish waiting for
some bait. "You mean she knew?"

"Well," Malone said, "she did know the guys in the Buick weren't the
best in the business--and she knew all about the specially-built FBI
Lincoln. She got that from our minds." He knotted his tie with an air of
great aplomb, and went, slowly to the door. "And she knew we were a good
team. She got that from our minds, too."

"But," Boyd said. After a second he said: "But," again, and followed it
with: "Why didn't she tell us?"

Malone opened the door.

"Her Majesty wished to see the Queen's Own FBI in action," said Sir
Kenneth Malone.

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of That Sweet Little Old Lady, by
Gordon Randall Garrett (AKA Mark Phillips)