tered. No, that sounded even worse. Oh,
well, he could look it up later.

The truth was that he had been born in the wrong century. He could
imagine himself at the Mermaid Tavern, hob-nobbing with Shakespeare
and all the rest of them. He wondered if Richard Greene would be
there. Then he wondered who Richard Greene was.

Behind Sir Kenneth, Sir Thomas Boyd strode, looking majestic, as if he
were about to fling purses of gold to the citizenry. As a matter of
fact, Malone thought, he was. They all were.

Purses of good old United States of America gold.

Behind Sir Thomas came Queen Elizabeth and her Lady-in-Waiting, Lady
Barbara Wilson. They made a beautiful foursome.

"The roulette table," Her Majesty said with dignity. "Precede me."

They pushed their way through the crowd. Most of the customers were
either excited enough, drunk enough, or both to see nothing in the
least incongruous about a Royal Family of the Tudors invading the
Golden Palace. Very few of them, as a matter of fact, seemed to notice
the group.

They were roulette players. They noticed nothing but the table and the
wheel. Malone wondered what they were thinking about, decided to ask
Queen Elizabeth, and then decided against it. He felt it would make
him nervous to know.

Her Majesty took a handful of chips.

The handful was worth, Malone knew, exactly five thousand dollars.
That, he'd thought, ought to last them an evening, even in the Golden
Palace. In the center of the strip, inside the city limits of Las
Vegas itself, the five thousand would have lasted much longer--but Her
Majesty wanted the Palace, and the Palace it was.

Malone began to smile. Since he couldn't avoid the evening, he was
determined to enjoy it. It was sort of fun, in its way, indulging a
sweet harmless old lady. And there was nothing they could do until the
next morning, anyhow.

His indulgent smile faded very suddenly.

Her Majesty plunked the entire handful of chips--_five thousand
dollars!_ Malone thought dazedly--onto the table. "Five thousand," she
said in clear, cool measured tones, "on number one."

The croupier blinked only slightly. He bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he
said.

Malone was briefly thankful, in the midst of his black horror, that he
had called the management and told them that the Queen's plays were
backed by the United States Government. Her Majesty was going to get
unlimited credit--and a good deal of awed and somewhat puzzled
respect.

Ma