ueen nodded agreement. "It's terrible," she said. "I get those
same flashes of telepathic static, too."

"You do?" Malone said, leaning forward.

"Just the same," the Queen said. "Whatever is operating in the United
States is operating over here, too."

Malone sat down in a seat on the aisle. "Everything," he announced,
"is now perfectly lovely. The United States is being confused and
mixed up by somebody, and the Somebody looked like a Russian spy. But
now Russia is being confused, too."

"Do you think there are some American spies working here?" the Queen
said.

"If they're using psionics," Malone said, "as they obviously are--and
I don't know about them, Burris doesn't know about them, O'Connor
doesn't know about them and nobody else I can find knows about them--
then they don't exist. That's flat."

"How about outer space?" the Queen said. "I mean, spies from outer
space trying to take over the Earth."

"It's a nice idea," Malone said sourly. "I wish they'd hurry up and do
it."

"Then you don't think--"

"I don't know what to think," Malone said. "There's some perfectly
simple explanation for all this. And somewhere, in all the running
around and looking here and there I've been doing, I've got all the
facts I need to come up with that answer."

"Oh, my," the Queen said. "That's wonderful."

"Sure it is," Malone said. "There's only one trouble, as a matter of
fact. I don't know what the explanation is, and I don't know which
facts are important and which ones aren't."

There was a short silence.

"I wish Tom Boyd were here," Malone said wistfully.

"Really?" the Queen said. "Why?"

"Because," Malone said, "I feel like hearing some really professional
cursing."

* * * * *

Three-quarters of an hour passed, each and every minute draped in some
black and gloomy material. Malone sat in his seat, his head supported
by both hands, and stared at the back of the seat ahead of him. No
great messages were written on it. The Queen, respecting his need for
silent contemplation, sat and watched Lou and said nothing at all.

It was always possible, of course, Malone thought, that he would fall
asleep and dream of an answer. That kind of thing kept happening to
detectives in books. Or else a strange man in a black trenchcoat would
sidle up to him and hand him a slip of paper. The words: "Five
o'clock, watch out, the red snake, doom," would be written on the
paper and these words would provide him with just