He took it easily enough, but looked down quickly. In Berlin I'd demanded the immediate attention of Bureau One to get rid of Thrower, and it had meant waking him up at two in the morning in Washington; it was the closest I've ever come to being thrown out on my neck.

'Linguini Francesco for the gentlemen,' and there was Luigi himself with the dishes, lowering them to the table with a flourish. 'But no wine? I have some Chianti Risadori that arrived — '

'We're working, Luigi,' Flockhart said, and this time the smile had surprising charm. 'Perhaps later.'

'There is time for work and there is time for Chianti Risadori,' Luigi said with nicely feigned indignation, and went away folding his serviette with another flourish.

'You get on well, normally,' Flockhart was asking, 'with your controls and your directors in the field?' I didn't answer right away, and he said, 'I hope you don't mind if we dispense with small talk while we're eating?'

'Not my language.'

'Jolly good.' He waited for my answer.

'I get on well if they're effective and don't try to bitch me about. Croder knows that, so does Loman.'

'You've crossed swords, is that it?' Offered with a slight smile, but not the charming one. It was the smile, bearing in mind what Holmes had said, on the face of the tarantula.

'We understand each other. I probably respect Croder more than any other control, and not just because he's Chief of Signals.'

Flockhart moved the shaker of parmesan towards me. 'How is the linguini?'

'First class.'

'Croder, yes, is quite formidable, isn't he, in terms of effectiveness. What about Loman?'

'He's effective,' I said. 'He ran me well in Singapore.'

'But?'

'I think it's the bow tie.'

Flockhart actually laughed. 'The bow tie, yes, I know what you mean. What about Pepperidge? Ferris?'