dealer lookedup and almost lost 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."Another five hundred?" he said.
Her Majesty sniffed audibly. "Another five thousand," she saidregally.
Boyd looked Malonewards. Malone looked defeated.
Boyd turned with a small sigh and headed for the cashier's booth.Three minutes 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,but looked 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?" hesaid.
"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 herea great many years."
Malone hoped fervently that Her Majesty wouldn't mention just how manyyears. He didn't think he could stand it, and he was almost gratefulfor the 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 onewho will have nothing more to do with the world.
Her Majesty picked up her hand.
"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 heopened his eyes again. The Queen was pushing two ten-dollar chipstoward the center of the table.
The next man dropped, and the dealer looked round the table. "Howmany?"
The man who couldn't open took three cards. The man who'd opened fortwenty stood pat. Malone shuddered invisibly. That, he figured, meanta straight or better. And Queen Elizabeth Thompson was going inagainst at least a straight with a pair of nines, Jack high.
For the first time, it was borne in on Malone that being a telepathdid not necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. Even ifyou knew what every other person at the table held, you could stillmake a whole lot 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:the six 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 filla full 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 soobviously, the dealer might have mistaken the play of naked emotionacross his visage 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,and even less....
Her Majesty, it seemed, was a damn poor poker player.
The ante had been raised by this time.
Her Majesty was losing one hundred dollars a hand, even before thebetting began. But she showed not 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-hour of 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.He had been winning steadily ever since Her Majesty sat down, andMalone thought that the man should, by this time, be awfully gratefulto the United States Government. Somehow, he doubted that thisgratitude existed.
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, Queenand ten 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 and watching. He saw the last man,after some debate internal, shove a total of one thousand dollars intothe 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'sright, 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 alove of big-game hunting, or stunt-flying.
But no. It had to be poker.
The Queen threw away her seven of spades, showing more sense thanMalone had given her credit for at any time during the game. She letthe other card 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,that his step was neither as springy nor as confident as it had beenbefore. 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 $20,000 to Burris andsome congressmen, and after that he watched the floor narrowly, hopingfor the smallest hint of a crack in the palazzo marble.
"May I raise the whole five thousand?" the Queen said.
"It's okay with me," the dealer said. "How about the rest of you?"
The four grunts he got expressed a suppressed eagerness. The Queentook the new chips Boyd had brought her and shoved them into thecenter of the table with a fine, careless gesture of her hand. Shesmiled gaily at everybody. "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 helda great hand, and though raising had gone on throughout the hand, eachmust now be afraid of going the least little bit too far and scaringthe others out.
"Mr. Congressman," Malone muttered. "There's this game called poker.You play 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 openedthe hand 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 feltdevoutly thankful for that.
The second man reached for the money but, under the popeyed gaze ofthe dealer, the fifth man laid down another straight--this one tenhigh. The nine was a club Malone felt the odds go down, right in hisown 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 ofchips. The Queen laid down her four clubs--Ace, King, Queen and ten--and for the 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. Thecowboy's hands 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,"I hereby appoint you temporary Chancellor of the Exchequer--at leastuntil Parliament convenes."
There was, Malone thought, at least thirty-five thousand dollars inthe pile. 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 NationalDebt could be wiped out in a matter of days.
He brought the money back. Boyd and the Queen were waiting for him,but Barbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "She's on the way out,"the Queen informed him, and, sure enough, in a minute they saw thefigure approaching them. Malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, shesmiled back. They began the long march to the exit of the club, slowlyand regally, though not by choice.
The crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go. Malone never found out,then or later, how the news of Her Majesty's winnings had gone throughthe place so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. The Queen wasthe recipient of several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and,when they reached the front door at last, the doorman said in a mostrespectful tone: "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 carand headed 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 awedand respectful, 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, Iknew what 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--butthe fact just didn't register until, a couple of blocks later, the carbegan to pull around them on the left. It was a Buick, while Boyd'swas a new Lincoln, but the edge wasn't too apparent yet.
Malone spotted the gun barrel protruding from the Buick and yelledjust before 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 glassof the curved windshield all over--but none of it came into the caritself.
Malone already had his hand on the butt of the .44 Magnum under hisleft armpit, and he even had time to be grateful, for once, that itwasn't a smallsword. The women were in the back seat, frozen, and heyelled: "Duck, damn it, duck!" and felt, rather than saw, both of themsink down onto the floor of 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 andthe Lincoln 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 s
eat. He had no time to look back.
A .44 Magnum is not, by any means, a small gun. As handguns go--revolvers and automatics--it is about as large as a gun can get to be.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 followed it right away, and missed the hole thefirst slug had made by something less 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 blastmerely scored 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 imagined himself capableof 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