tionalized
one. As far as Malone was concerned, it made more sense than most of
real life.

* * * * *

"That's very nice of you, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "But I want to
ask you again: what kind of detective are you? Haven't you got any
common sense at all?"

Malone hated to admit it, but he had always had just that suspicion.
After all, he wasn't a very good detective. He was just lucky. His luck
had enabled him to break a lot of tough cases. But some day people would
find out, and then--

"Well," the Queen said, "at the very least you ought to _act_ like a
detective." She sniffed audibly. "Sir Kenneth, I'm ashamed that a member
of My Own FBI can't do any better than you're doing now."

Malone blinked into the screen. He did feel ashamed in a vague sort of
way, and he was willing to admit it. But he did feel, wistfully, that it
would be nice to know just what he was being ashamed of. "Have I been
missing something?" he said.

"Outside of the obvious," the Queen said, "that you've been missing your
notebook--or, rather, Mike Fueyo's notebook."

"Yes?" Malone said.

"You certainly have," the Queen said. "Don't you see what happened to
that notebook? You've been missing the only possible explanation."

"All I can figure," Malone said, "is that Dorothy Francis picked my
pocket."

"Exactly," the Queen said. "Now, if you'd only wear proper clothing, and
a proper pouch at your belt--"

"I'd be stared at," Malone said. "In court clothing--"

"No one in New York would stare at you," the Queen said. "They'd think
it was what they call an advertising stunt."

"Anyhow," Malone said, "I wasn't wearing court clothing. So that made it
easy for her to steal the notebook."

Her Majesty gave him a bright smile. "There!" she said.

"There, what?" Malone said.

"I knew you could do it," the Queen said. "All you had to do was apply
your intelligence and you'd come up with just the fact you needed."

"What fact?" Malone said.

"That Miss Francis has your notebook," the Queen said. "You just told
me."

"All right," Malone said, and stopped, and took a deep breath. After a
pause he said: "What is that supposed to mean? What on Earth would she
want with it? Just to look at all the pretty pictures?"

"Don't be silly," the Queen said, with some asperity. "She doesn't even
want to look at the thing. She doesn't care what's in it."

Malone closed his eyes. "Riddle time," he murmured. "