"Likewise," Malone said. "But go on."
"Sure," Boyd said. "Anyhow, they might have set the three of them up as patsies, just in case we stumbled on to this mess. We can't overlook this possibility."
"Right," Malone said. "It's faint, but it is a possibility. In other words, the agency behind the flashes might be Russian, and it might not be Russian."
"That clears that up nicely," Boyd said. "Next question?"
"The next one," Malone said grimly, "is, what's behind the flashes? Some sort of psionic power is causing them, that much is obvious."
"I'll go along with that," Boyd said. "I have to go along with it. But don't think I like it."
"Nobody likes it," Malone said. "But let's go on. O'Connor isn't any help; he washes his hands of the whole business."
"Lucky man," Boyd said.
"He says that it can't be happening," Malone said, "and if it is we're all screwy. Now, right or wrong, that isn't an opinion that gives us any handle to work with."
"No," Boyd said reflectively. "A certain amount of comfort, to be sure, but no handles."
"Sir Lewis Carter, on the other hand--" Malone said. He fumbled through some of the piles of paper until he had located the ones the president of the Psychical Research Society had sent. "Sir Lewis Carter," he went on, "does seem to be doing some pretty good work. At least, some of the more modern stuff he sent over looks pretty solid. They've been doing quite a bit of research into the subject, and their theories seem to be all right, or nearly all right, to me. Of course, I'm not an expert."
"Who is?" Boyd said. "Except for O'Connor, of course."
"Well, somebody is," Malone said. "Whoever's doing all this, for instance. And the theories do seem okay. In most cases, for instance, they agree with O'Connor's work, though they're not in complete agreement."
"I should think so," Boyd said. "O'Connor wouldn't recognize an astral plane if TWA were putting them into service."
"I don't mean that sort of thing," Malone said. "There's lots about astral bodies and ghosts, ectoplasm, Transcendental Yoga, theosophy, deros, the Great Pyramid, Atlantis, Mu, norns, and other such ridiculous pets. That's just silly, as far as I can see. But what they have to say about parapsychology and psionics as such does seem to be reasonably accurate."
"I suppose so," Boyd said tiredly.
"Okay, then," Malone said. "Did anybody notice anything in that pile of stuff that might conceivably have any bearing whatever on our problems?"
"I did," Boyd said. "Or I think I did."
"You both did," Her Majesty said. "And so did I, when I looked through it. But I didn't bother with it. I dismissed it."
"Why?" Malone said.
"Because I don't think it's true," she said. "However, my opinion is really only an opinion." She smiled around at the others.
Malone picked up a thick sheaf of papers from one of the piles of his desk. "Let's get straight what it is we're talking about," he said. "All right?"
"Anything's all right with me," Boyd said. "I'm easy to please."
Malone nodded. "Now, this writer--what's his name?" he said. He glanced at the copy of the cover page. "Minds and Morons," he read. "By Cartier Taylor."
"Great title," Boyd said. "Does he say which is which?"
"Let's get back to serious business," Malone said, giving Boyd a single look. There was silence for a second, and then Malone said, "He mentions something, in the book, that he calls 'telepathic projection.' As far as I understand what he's talking about, that's some method of forcing your thoughts on another person." He glanced over at the Queen. "Now, Your Majesty," he said, "you don't think it's true--and that may only be an opinion, but it's a pretty informed one. It seems to me as if Taylor makes a good case for this 'telepathic projection' of his. Why don't you think so?"
"Because," Her Majesty said flatly, "it doesn't work."
"You've tried it?" Boyd put in.
"I have," she said. "And I have had no success with it at all. It's a complete failure."
"Now, wait a minute," Boyd said. "Just a minute."
"What's the matter?" Malone said. "Have you tried it, and made it work?"
Boyd snorted. "Fat chance," he said. "I just want to look at the thing, that's all." He held out his hand, and Malone gave him the sheaf of papers. Boyd leafed through them slowly, stopping every now and again to consult a page, until he found what he was looking for. "There," he said.
"There what?" Malone said.
"Listen to this," Boyd said. "'For those who draw the line at demonic possession, I suggest trying telepathic projection. Apparently, it is possible to project one's own thoughts directly into the mind of another--even to the point of taking control of the other's mind. Hypnotism? You tell me, and we'll both know. Ever since the orthodox scientists have come around to accepting hypnotism, I'm been chary of it. Maybe there really is an astral body or a soul that a person has stashed about him somewhere--something that he can send out to take control of another human being. But I, personally, prefer the telepathic projection theory. All you have to do is squirt your thoughts across space and spray them all over the other fellow's brain. Presto-bingo, he does pretty much what you want him to do.'"
"That's the quote I was thinking of," Malone said.
"Of course it is," Her Majesty said. "But it really doesn't work. I've tried it."
"How have you tried it?" Malone said.
"There were many times, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "when I wanted someone to do something particular for me or for some other person. After all, you must remember that I was in a hospital for a long time. Of course, that represents only a short segment of my life-span, but it seemed long to me."
Malone, who was trying to view the years from age fifteen to age sixty-odd as a short segment of anybody's lifetime, remembered with a shock that this was not Rose Thompson speaking. It was Queen Elizabeth I, who had never died.
"That's right, Sir Kenneth," she said kindly. "And in that hospital, there were a number of times when I wanted one of the doctors or nurses to do what I wanted them to. I tried many times, but I never succeeded."
Boyd nodded his head. "Well--" he began.
"Oh, yes, Sir Thomas," Her Majesty said. "What you're thinking is certainly possible. It may even be true."
"What is he thinking?" Malone said.
"He thinks," Her Majesty said, "that I may not have the talent for this particular effect--and perhaps I don't. But, talent or not, I know what's possible and what isn't. And the way Mr. Taylor describes it is simply silly, that's all. And unladylike. Imagine any self-respecting lady 'squirting' her thoughts about in space!"
"Well," Malone said carefully, "aside from its being unladylike--"
"Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "you are not telepathic. Neither is Sir Thomas."
"I'm nothing," Boyd said. "I don't even exist."
"And it is very difficult to explain to the non-telepath just what Mr. Taylor is implying," Her Majesty went on imperturbably. "Before you could inject any thoughts into anyone else's mind, you'd have to be able to see into that mind. Is that correct?"
"I guess so," Malone said.
"And in order to do that, you'd have to be telepathic," Her Majesty said. "Am I correct?"
"Correct," Malone said.
"Well, then," Her Majesty said with satisfaction, and beamed at him.
A second passed.
"Well, then, what?" Malone said in confusion.