s, of a Sunday afternoon.

She had snow-white hair that shone like a crown around her old head in
the lights of the room. Malone blinked at her. She didn't disappear.

"You're Miss Thompson?" he said.

She smiled sweetly. "Oh, my, no," she said.

There was a long silence. Malone looked at her. Then he looked at the
unbelievably beautiful Miss Wilson. Then he looked at Dr. Harman. And,
at last, he looked at Boyd.

"All right," he said. "I get it. _You're_ Miss Thompson."

"Now, wait a minute, Malone," Boyd began.

"Wait a minute?" Malone said. "There are four people here, not
counting me. I know I'm not Miss Thompson. I never was, not even as a
child. And Dr. Harman isn't, and Miss Wilson isn't, and Whistler's
Great-Grandmother isn't, either. So you must be. Unless she isn't
here. Or unless she's invisible. Or unless I'm crazy."

"It isn't _you_, Malone," Boyd said. "What isn't me?"

"That's crazy," Boyd said.

"Okay," Malone said. "I'm not crazy. Then will somebody please tell
me--"

The little old lady cleared her throat. A silence fell. When it was
complete she spoke, and her voice was as sweet and kindly as anything
Malone had ever heard.

"You may call me Miss Thompson," she said. "For the present, at any
rate. They all do here. It's a pseudonym I have to use."

"A pseudonym?" Malone said.

"You see, Mr. Malone," Miss Wilson began.

Malone stopped her. "Don't talk," he said. "I have to concentrate and
if you talk I can barely think." He took off his hat suddenly, and
began twisting the brim in his hands. "You understand, don't you?"

The trace of a smile appeared on her face. "I think I do," she said.

"Now," Malone said. "You're Miss Thompson, but not really, because you
have to use a pseudonym." He blinked at the little old lady. "Why?"

"Well," she said, "otherwise people would find out about my little
secret."

"Your little secret," Malone said.

"That's right," the little old lady said. "I'm immortal, you see."

Malone said: "Oh." Then he kept quiet for a long time. It didn't seem
to him that anyone in the room was breathing.

He said: "Oh," again, but it didn't sound any better than it had the
first time. He tried another phrase. "You're immortal," he said.

"That's right," the little old lady agreed sweetly.

There was only one other question to ask, and Malone set his teeth
grimly and asked it. It came out just a trifle indistinct, but the
little old lady nodded.

"My real nam