That Sweet Little Old Lady

  VI

  The management of the Golden Palace had been in business for many long,dreary, profitable years, and each member of the staff thought he or shehad seen just about everything there was to be seen. And those that werenew felt an obligation to _look_ as if they'd seen everything.

  Therefore, when the entourage of Queen Elizabeth I strolled into themain salon, not a single eye was batted. Not a single gasp was heard.

  Nevertheless, the staff kept a discreet eye on the crew. Drunks, richmen or Arabian millionaires were all familiar. But a group out of theSixteenth Century was something else again.

  Malone almost strutted, conscious of the sidelong glances the group wasdrawing. But it was obvious that Sir Thomas was the major attraction.Even if you could accept the idea of people in strange costumes, thesight of a living, breathing absolute duplicate of King Henry VIII was alittle too much to take. It has been reported that two ladies namedJane, and one named Catherine, came down with sudden headaches and leftthe salon within five minutes of the group's arrival.

  Malone felt he knew, however, why he wasn't drawing his full share ofattention. He felt a little out of place. The costume was one thing,and, to tell the truth, he was beginning to enjoy it. Even with theweight of the stuff, it was going to be a wrench to go back tosingle-breasted suits and plain white shirts. But he did feel that heshould have been carrying a sword.

  Instead, he had a .44 Magnum Colt snuggled beneath his left armpit.

  Somehow, a .44 Magnum Colt didn't seem as romantic as a sword. Malonepictured himself saying: "Take that, varlet." Was varlet what you calledthem? he wondered. Maybe it was valet.

  "Take that, valet," he muttered. 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 couldimagine himself at the Mermaid Tavern, hob-nobbing with Shakespeare andall the rest of them. He wondered if Sir Richard Greene would be there.Then he wondered who Sir Richard Greene was.

  Behind Sir Kenneth, Sir Thomas Boyd strode, looking majestic, as if hewere about to fling purses of gold to the citizenry. As a matter offact, 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, LadyBarbara 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 wereeither excited enough, drunk enough, or both to see nothing in the leastincongruous about a Royal Family of the Tudors invading the GoldenPalace. Very few of them, as a matter of fact, seemed to notice thegroup.

  They were roulette players. They noticed nothing but the table and thewheel. Malone wondered what they were thinking about, decided to askQueen Elizabeth, and then decided against it. He felt it would make himnervous 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 GoldenPalace. In the center of the strip, inside the city limits of Las Vegasitself, the five thousand would have lasted much longer--but Her Majestywanted the Palace, and the Palace it was.

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

  His indulgent smile faded very suddenly.

  Her Majesty plunked the entire handful of chips--_five thousanddollars!_ Malone thought dazedly--onto the table. "Five thousand," shesaid in clear, cool measured tones, "on Number One."

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

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

  Malone watched the spin begin with mixed feelings. There was fivethousand dollars riding on the little ball. But, after all, Her Majestywas a telepath. Did that mean anything?

  He hadn't decided by the time the wheel stopped, and by then he didn'thave to decide.

  "Thirty-four," the croupier said tonelessly. "Red, Even and High."

  He raked in the chips with a nonchalant air.

  Malone felt as if he had swallowed his stomach. Boyd and Lady Barbara,standing nearby, had absolutely no expressions on their faces. Maloneneeded no telepath to tell him what they were thinking.

  They were exactly the same as he was. They were incapable of thought.

  But Her Majesty never batted an eyelash. "Come, Sir Kenneth," she said."Let's go on to the poker tables."

  She swept out. Her entourage followed her, shambling a little, andblank-eyed. Malone was still thinking about the five thousand dollars.Oh, well, Burris had said to give the lady anything she wanted. _But!_he thought. _Did she have to play for royal stakes?_

  "I am, after all, a Queen," she whispered back to him.

  Malone thought about the National Debt. He wondered if a million more orless would make any real difference. There would be questions asked incommittees about it. He tried to imagine himself explaining the eveningto a group of congressmen. "Well, you see, gentlemen, there was thisroulette wheel--"

  He gave it up.

  Then he wondered how much hotter the water was going to get, and hestopped thinking altogether in self-defense.

  * * * * *

  In the next room, there were scattered tables. At one, a poker game wasin full swing. Only five were playing; one, by his white-tie-and-tailsuniform, was easily recognizable as a house dealer. The other four wereall men, one of them in full cowboy regalia. The Tudors descended uponthem with great suddenness, and the house dealer looked up and almostlost his cigarette.

  "We haven't any money, Your Majesty," Malone whispered.

  She smiled up at him sweetly, and then drew him aside. "If you were atelepath," she said, "how would _you_ play poker?"

  Malone thought about that for a minute, and then turned to look forBoyd. But Sir Thomas didn't even have to be given instructions. "Anotherfive hundred?" he said.

  Her Majesty sniffed audibly. "Another five thousand," she said regally.

  Boyd looked Malone-wards. Malone looked defeated.

  Boyd turned with a small sigh and headed for the cashier's booth. Threeminutes later, he was back with a fat fistful of chips.

  "Five grand?" Malone whispered to him.

  "Ten," Boyd said. "I know when to back a winner."

  Her Majesty went over to the table. The dealer had regained control, butlooked up at them with a puzzled stare.

  "You know," the Queen said, with an obvious attempt to put the man athis ease, "I've always wanted to visit a gambling hall."

  "Sure, lady," the dealer said. "Naturally."

  "May I sit down?"

  The dealer looked at the group. "How about your friends?" he saidcautiously.

  The Queen shook her head. "They would rather watch, I'm sure."

  For once Malone blessed the woman's telepathic talent. He, Boyd andBarbara Wilson formed a kind of Guard of Honor around the chair whichHer Majesty occupied. Boyd handed over the new pile of chips, and wasfavored with a royal smile.

  "This is a poker game, ma'am," the dealer said to her, quietly.

  "I know, I know," Her Majesty said with a trace of testiness. "Roll'em."

  The dealer stared at her popeyed. Next to her, the gentleman in thecowboy outfit turned. "Ma'am, are you from around these parts?" he said.

  "Oh, no," the Queen said. "I'm from England."

  "England?" The cowboy looked puzzled. "You don't seem to have anyaccent, ma'am," he said at last.

  "Certainly not," the Queen said. "I've lost that; I've been over here agreat many years."

&nbs
p; Malone hoped fervently that Her Majesty wouldn't mention just how manyyears. He didn't think he could stand it, and he was almost grateful forthe cowboy's nasal twang.

  "Oil?" he said.

  "Oh, no," Her Majesty said. "The Government is providing this money."

  "The Government?"

  "Certainly," Her Majesty said. "The FBI, you know."

  There was a long silence.

  At last, the dealer said: "Five-card draw your game, ma'am?"

  "If you please," Her Majesty said.

  The dealer shrugged and, apparently, commended his soul to a gambler'sGod. He passed the pasteboards around the table with the air of one whowill have nothing more to do with the world.

  Her Majesty picked up her hand.

  "May I raise ... five thousand?"]

  "The ante's ten, ma'am," the dealer said softly.

  Without looking, Her Majesty removed a ten-dollar chip from the pilebefore her and sent it spinning to the middle of the table.

  The dealer opened his mouth, but said nothing. Malone, meanwhile, waspeering over the Queen's shoulder.

  She held a pair of nines, a four, a three and a Jack.

  The man to the left of the dealer announced glumly: "Can't open."

  The next man grinned. "Open for twenty," he said.

  Malone closed his eyes. He heard the cowboy say: "I'm in," and he openedhis eyes again. The Queen was pushing two ten-dollar chips toward thecenter of the table.

  The next man dropped, and the dealer looked round the table. "How many?"

  The man who couldn't open took three cards. The man who'd opened fortwenty stood pat. Malone shuddered invisibly. That, he figured, meant atleast a straight. And Queen Elizabeth Thompson was going in against astraight or better with a pair of nines, Jack high.

  For the first time, it was borne in on Malone that being a telepath didnot necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. Even if you knewwhat every other person at the table held, you could still make a wholelot of stupid mistakes.

  He looked nervously at Queen Elizabeth, but her face was serene.Apparently she'd been following the thoughts of the poker players, andnot concentrating on him at all. That was a relief. He felt, for thefirst time in days, as if he could think freely.

  The cowboy said: "Two," and took them. It was Her Majesty's turn.

  "I'll take two," she said, and threw away the three and four. It lefther with the nine of spades and the nine of hearts, and the Jack ofdiamonds.

  These were joined, in a matter of seconds, by two bright new cards: thesix of clubs and the three of hearts.

  Malone closed his eyes. Oh, well, he thought.

  It was only thirty bucks down the drain. Practically nothing.

  Of course Her Majesty dropped at once; knowing what the other playersheld, she knew she couldn't beat them after the draw. But she did liketo take long chances, Malone thought miserably. Imagine trying to fill afull house on one pair!

  * * * * *

  Slowly, as the minutes passed, the pile of chips before Her Majestydwindled. Once Malone saw her win with two pair against a reckless mantrying to fill a straight on the other side of the table. But whateverwas going on, Her Majesty's face was as calm as if she were asleep.

  Malone's worked overtime. If the Queen hadn't been losing so obviously,the dealer might have mistaken the play of naked emotion across hisvisage for a series of particularly obvious signals.

  An hour went by. Barbara left to find a ladies' lounge where she couldsit down and try to relax. Fascinated in a horrible sort of way, bothMalone and Boyd stood, rooted to the spot, while hand after hand wentby and the ten thousand dollars dwindled to half that, to a quarter, andeven less--

  Her Majesty, it seemed, was a mighty poor poker player.

  The ante had been raised by this time. Her Majesty was losing onehundred dollars a hand, even before the betting began. But she showednot the slightest indication to stop.

  "We've got to get up in the morning," Malone announced to no one inparticular, when he thought he couldn't possibly stand another half hourof the game.

  "So we do," Her Majesty said with a little regretful sigh. "Very well,then. Just one more hand."

  "It's a shame to lose you," the cowboy said to her, quite sincerely. Hehad been winning steadily ever since Her Majesty sat down, and Malonethought that the man should, by this time, be awfully grateful to theUnited States Government. Somehow, he doubted that this gratitudeexisted.

  Malone wondered if she should be allowed to stay for one more hand.There was, he estimated, about two thousand dollars in front of her.Then he wondered how he was going to stop her.

  The cards were dealt.

  The first man said quietly: "Open for two hundred."

  Malone looked at the Queen's hand. It contained the Ace, King, Queen andten of clubs--and the seven of spades.

  _Oh, no_, he thought. _She couldn't possibly be thinking of filling aflush._

  He knew perfectly well that she was.

  The second man said: "And raise two hundred."

  The Queen equably tossed--counting, Malone thought, the ante--fivehundred into the pot.

  The cowboy muttered to himself for a second, and finally shoved in hismoney.

  "I think I'll raise it another five hundred," the Queen said calmly.

  Malone wanted to die of shock. Unfortunately, he remained alive andwatching. He was the last man, after some debate internal, to shove atotal of one thousand dollars into the pot.

  "Cards?" said the dealer.

  The first man said: "One."

  It was too much to hope for, Malone thought. If that first man weretrying to fill a straight or a flush, maybe he wouldn't make it. Andmaybe something final would happen to all the other players. But thatwas the only way he could see for Her Majesty to win.

  The card was dealt. The second man stood pat and Malone's green tingebecame obvious to the veriest dunce. The cowboy, on Her Majesty's right,asked for a card, received it and sat back without a trace ofexpression.

  The Queen said: "I'll try one for size." She'd picked up poker lingo,and the basic rules of the game, Malone realized, from the otherplayers--or possibly from someone at the hospital itself, years ago.

  He wished she'd picked up something less dangerous instead, like a loveof big-game hunting, or stunt-flying.

  But no. It had to be poker.

  The Queen threw away her seven of spades, showing more sense than Malonehad given her credit for at any time during the game. She let the othercard fall and didn't look at it.

  She smiled up at Malone and Boyd. "Live dangerously," she said gaily.

  Malone gave her a hollow laugh.

  The last man drew one card, too, and the betting began.

  The Queen's remaining thousand was gone before an eye could notice it.She turned to Boyd.

  "Sir Thomas," she said. "Another five thousand, please. At once."

  Boyd said nothing at all, but marched off. Malone noticed, however, thathis step was neither as springy nor as confident as it had been before.For himself, Malone was sure that he could not walk at all.

  Maybe, he thought hopefully, the floor would open up and swallow themall. He tried to imagine explaining the loss of twenty thousand dollarsto Burris and some congressmen, and after that he watched the floornarrowly, hoping for the smallest hint of a crack in the palazzo marble.

  * * * * *

  "May I raise the whole five thousand?" the Queen said.

  "It's O.K. with me," the dealer said. "How about the rest of you?"

  The four grunts he got expressed a suppressed eagerness. The Queen tookthe new chips Boyd had brought her and shoved them into the center ofthe table with a fine, careless gesture of her hand. She smiled gaily ateverybody. "Seeing me?" she said.

  Everybody was.

  "Well, you see, it was this way," Malone muttered to himself,rehearsing. He half-thought that one of the others would raise again,but no one did.
After all, each of them must be convinced that he held agreat hand, and though raising had gone on throughout the hand, eachmust now be afraid of going the least little bit too far and scaring theothers out.

  "Mr. Congressman," Malone muttered, "there's this game called poker. Youplay it with cards and money. Chiefly money."

  That wasn't any good.

  "You've been called," the dealer said to the first man, who'd opened thehand a year or so before.

  "Why, sure," the player said, and laid down a pair of aces, a pair ofthrees--and a four. One of the threes, and the four, were clubs. Thatreduced the already improbable chances of the Queen's coming up with aflush.

  "Sorry," said the second man, and laid down a straight with a singlegesture. The straight was nine-high and there were no clubs in it.Malone felt devoutly thankful for that.

  The second man reached for the money but, under the popeyed gaze of thedealer, the fifth man laid down another straight--this one ten-high. Thenine was a club. Malone felt the odds go down, right in his own stomach.

  And now the cowboy put down his cards. The King of diamonds. The Kingof hearts. The Jack of diamonds. The Jack of spades. And--the Jack ofhearts.

  Full house. "Well," said the cowboy. "I suppose that does it."

  The Queen said: "Please. One moment."

  The cowboy stopped halfway in his reach for the enormous pile of chips.The Queen laid down her four clubs--Ace, King, Queen and ten--and forthe first time flipped over her fifth card.

  It was the Jack of clubs.

  "My God," the cowboy said, and it sounded like a prayer. "A royalflush."

  "Naturally," the Queen said. "What else?"

  Her Majesty calmly scooped up the tremendous pile of chips. The cowboy'shands fell away. Five mouths were open around the table.

  Her Majesty stood up. She smiled sweetly at the men around the table."Thank you very much, gentlemen," she said. She handed the chips toMalone, who took them in nerveless fingers. "Sir Kenneth," she said, "Ihereby appoint you temporary Chancellor of the Exchequer--at least untilParliament convenes."

  There was, Malone thought, at least thirty-five thousand dollars in thepile. He could think of nothing to say.

  So, instead of using up words, he went and cashed in the chips. Foronce, he realized, the Government had made money on an investment. Itwas probably the first time since 1775.

  Malone thought vaguely that the Government ought to make moreinvestments like the one he was cashing in. If it did, the National Debtcould be wiped out in a matter of days.

  He brought the money back. Boyd and the Queen were waiting for him, butBarbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "She's on the way out," theQueen informed him, and, sure enough, in a minute they saw the figureapproaching them. Malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, she smiledback. They began the long march to the exit of the club, slowly andregally, though not by choice.

  The crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go. Malone never found out, thenor later, how the news of Her Majesty's winnings had gone through theplace so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. The Queen was therecipient of several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and, when theyreached the front door at last, the doorman said in a most respectfultone: "Good evening, Your Majesty."

  The Queen positively beamed at him. So, to his own great surprise, didSir Kenneth Malone.

  Outside, it was about four in the morning. They climbed into the car andheaded back toward the hotel.

  * * * * *

  Malone was the first to speak. "How did you know that was a Jack ofclubs?" he said in a strangled sort of voice.

  The little old lady said calmly: "He was cheating."

  "The dealer?" Malone asked.

  The little old lady nodded.

  "In _your_ favor?"

  "He couldn't have been cheating," Boyd said at the same instant. "Whywould he want to give you all that money?"

  The little old lady shook her head. "He didn't want to give it to me,"she said. "He wanted to give it to the man in the cowboy's suit. Hisname is Elliott, by the way--Bernard L. Elliott. And he comes fromWeehawken. But he pretends to be a Westerner so nobody will besuspicious of him. He and the dealer are in cahoots ... isn't that theword?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Boyd said. "That's the word." His tone was awed andrespectful, and the little old lady gave a nod and became QueenElizabeth I once more.

  "Well," she said, "the dealer and Mr. Elliott were in cahoots, and thedealer wanted to give the hand to Mr. Elliott. But he made a mistake,and dealt the Jack of clubs to me. I watched him, and, of course, I knewwhat he was thinking. The rest was easy."

  "My God," Malone said. "Easy."

  Barbara said: "Did she win?"

  "She won," Malone said with what he felt was positively magnificentunderstatement.

  "Good," Barbara said, and lost interest at once.

  * * * * *

  Malone had seen the lights of a car in the rear-view mirror a fewminutes before. When he looked now, the lights were still there--but thefact just didn't register until, a couple of blocks later, the car beganto pull around them on the left. It was a Buick, while Boyd's was a newLincoln, but the edge wasn't too apparent yet.

  Malone spotted the gun barrel protruding from the Buick and yelled justbefore the first shot went off.

  Boyd, at the wheel, didn't even bother to look. His reflexes took overand he slammed his foot down on the brake. The specially-built FBILincoln slowed down instantly. The shotgun blast splattered the glass ofthe curved windshield all over--but none of it came into the car itself.

  Malone already had his hand on the butt of the .44 Magnum under his leftarmpit, and he even had time to be grateful, for once, that it wasn't asmallsword. The women were in the back seat, frozen, and he yelled:"Duck!" and felt, rather than saw, both of them sink down onto the floorof the car.

  The Buick had slowed down, too, and the gun barrel was swiveling backfor a second shot. Malone felt naked and unprotected. The Buick and theLincoln were even on the road now.

  Malone had his revolver out. He fired the first shot without evenrealizing fully that he'd done so, and he heard a piercing scream fromBarbara in the back seat. He had no time to look back.

  A .44 Magnum is not, by any means, a small gun. As hand gunsgo--revolvers and automatics--it is about as large as a gun can get tobe. An ordinary car has absolutely no chance against it.

  Much less the glass in an ordinary car.

  The first slug drilled its way through the window glass as though itwere not there, and slammed its way through an even more unprotectedobstacle, the frontal bones of the triggerman's skull. The second slugfrom Malone's gun missed the hole the first slug had made by somethingless than an inch.

  The big, apelike thug who was holding the shotgun had a chance to pullthe trigger once more, but he wasn't aiming very well. The blast merelyscored the paint off the top of the Lincoln.

  The rear window of the Buick was open, and Malone caught sight ofanother glint of blued steel from the corner of his eye. There was notime to shift aim--not with bullets flying like swallows on the way toCapistrano. Malone thought faster than he had ever imagined himselfcapable of doing, and decided to aim for the driver.

  Evidently the man in the rear seat of the Buick had had the sameinspiration. Malone blasted two more high-velocity lead slugs at thedriver of the big Buick, and at the same time the man in the Buick'srear seat fired at Boyd.

  But Boyd had shifted tactics. He'd hit the brakes. Now he came down hardon the accelerator instead.

  * * * * *

  The chorus of shrieks from the Lincoln's back seat increased slightly involume. Barbara, Malone knew, wasn't badly hurt; she hadn't even stoppedfor breath since the first shot had been fired. Anybody who could screamlike that, he told himself, had to be healthy.

  As the Lincoln leaped ahead, Malone pulled the trigger of his .44 twicemore. The heavy, high-speed chunks of strea
mlined copper-coated leadleaped from the muzzle of the gun and slammed into the driver of theBuick without wasting any time. The Buick slewed across the highway.

  The two shots fired by the man in the back seat went past Malone's headwith a _whizz_, missing both him and Boyd by a margin too narrow tothink about.

  But those were the last shots. The only difference between the FBI andthe Enemy seemed to be determination and practice.

  The Buick spun into a flat sideskid, swiveled on its wheels and slammedinto the ditch at the side of the road, turning over and over, making ahorrible noise, as it broke up.

  Boyd slowed the car again, just as there was a sudden blast of fire. TheBuick had burst into flame and was spitting heat and smoke and fire inall directions. Malone sent one more bullet after it in a last flurry ofaction--saving his last one for possible later emergencies.

  Boyd jammed on the brakes and the Lincoln came to a screaming halt. Insilence he and Malone watched the burning Buick roll over and over intothe desert beyond the shoulder.

  "My God," Boyd said. "My ears!"

  Malone understood at once. The blast from his own still-smoking .44 hadroared past Boyd's head during the gun battle. No wonder the man's earshurt. It was a wonder he wasn't altogether deaf.

  But Boyd shook off the pain and brought out his own .44 as he steppedout of the car. Malone followed him, his gun trained.

  From the rear, Her Majesty said: "It's safe to rise now, isn't it?"

  "You ought to know," Malone said. "You can tell if they're still alive."

  There was silence while Queen Elizabeth frowned for a moment inconcentration. A look of pain crossed her face, and then, as herexpression smoothed again, she said: "The traitors are dead. All exceptone, and he's--" She paused. "He's dying," she finished. "He can't hurtyou."

  There was no need for further battle. Malone reholstered his .44 andturned to Boyd. "Tom, call the State Police," he said. "Get 'em downhere fast."

  He waited while Boyd climbed back under the wheel and began punchingbuttons on the dashboard. Then Malone went toward the burning Buick.

  He tried to drag the men out, but it wasn't any use. The first two, inthe front seat, had the kind of holes in them people talked aboutthrowing elephants through. Head and chest had been hit.

  Malone couldn't get close enough to the fiercely blazing automobile tomake even a try for the men in the back seat.

  * * * * *

  He was sitting quietly on the edge of the rear seat when the NevadaHighway Patrol cars drove up next to them. Barbara Wilson had stoppedscreaming, but she was still sobbing on Malone's shoulder. "It's allright," he told her, feeling ineffectual.

  "I never saw anybody killed before," she said.

  "It's all right," Malone said. "Nothing's going to hurt you. I'llprotect you."

  He wondered if he meant it, and found, to his surprise, that he did.Barbara Wilson sniffled and looked up at him. "Mr. Malone--"

  "Ken," he said.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "Ken--I'm so afraid. I saw the hole in one of themen's heads, when you fired ... it was--"

  "Don't think about it," Malone said. To him, the job had been anunpleasant occurrence, but a job, that was all. He could see, though,how it might affect people who were new to it.

  "You're so brave," she said.

  Malone tightened his arm around the girl's shoulder. "Just depend onme," he said. "You'll be all right if you--"

  The State Trooper walked up then, and looked at them. "Mr. Malone?" hesaid. He seemed to be taken slightly aback at the costuming.

  "That's right," Malone said. He pulled out his ID card and the littlegolden badge. The State Patrolman looked at them, and looked back atMalone.

  "What's with the getup?" he said.

  "FBI," Malone said, hoping his voice carried conviction. "Officialbusiness."

  "In costume?"

  "Never mind about the details," Malone snapped.

  "He's an FBI agent, sir," Barbara said.

  "And what are you?" the Patrolman said. "Lady Jane Grey?"

  "I'm a nurse," Barbara said. "A psychiatric nurse."

  "For nuts?"

  "For disturbed patients."

  The patrolman thought that over. "You've got the identity cards andstuff," he said at last. "Maybe you've got a reason to dress up. Howwould I know? I'm only a State Patrolman."

  "Let's cut the monologue," Malone said savagely, "and get to business."

  The patrolman stared. Then he said: "All right, sir. Yes, sir. I'mLieutenant Adams, Mr. Malone. Suppose you tell me what happened?"

  Carefully and concisely, Malone told him the story of the Buick that hadpulled up beside them, and what had happened afterward.

  Meanwhile, the other cops had been looking over the wreck. When Malonehad finished his story, Lieutenant Adams flipped his notebook shut andlooked over toward them. "I guess it's O.K., sir," he said. "As far asI'm concerned, it's justifiable homicide. Self-defense. Any reason whythey'd want to kill you?"

  Malone thought about the Golden Palace. That might be a reason--but itmight not. And why burden an innocent State Patrolman with the facts ofFBI life?

  "Official," he said. "Your chief will get the report."

  The patrolman nodded. "I'll have to take a deposition tomorrow, but--"

  "I know," Malone said. "Thanks. Can we go on to our hotel now?"

  "I guess," the patrolman said. "Go ahead. We'll take care of the rest ofthis. You'll be getting a call later."

  "Fine," Malone said. "Trace those hoods, and any connections they mighthave had. Get the information to me as soon as possible."

  Lieutenant Adams nodded. "You won't have to leave the state, will you?"he asked. "I don't mean that you _can't_, exactly ... hell, you're FBI.But it'd be easier--"

  "Call Burris in Washington," Malone said. "He can get hold of me--and ifthe Governor wants to know where we are, or the State's Attorney, putthem in touch with Burris, too. O.K.?"

  "O.K.," Lieutenant Adams said. "Sure." He blinked at Malone. "Listen,"he said. "About those costumes--"

  "We're trying to catch Henry VIII for the murder of Anne Boleyn," Malonesaid with a polite smile. "O.K.?"

  "I was only asking," Lieutenant Adams said. "Can't blame a man forasking, now, can you?"

  Malone climbed into his front seat. "Call me later," he said. The carstarted. "Back to the hotel, Sir Thomas," Malone said, and the carroared off.