Blade climbed into the Rover and turned on the headlights and engine. Then he put the car in gear and started his slow creep back down the lane. Behind him the house was now completely invisible in the rain and the gathering twilight.

Blade didn't drive back to London that night. He checked into a hotel in Basingstoke, ate a good if overpriced dinner with plenty of whiskey and soda, then called his home for any recorded messages. As soon as he'd heard what J left, he called the number J used when Blade or a select handful of other people weren't using a scrambled phone.

As usual, nobody answered. Blade sipped at his drink, then said, «Record. J, this is Richard, returning your call. I'm at the Golden Keys in Basingstoke,» and gave the hotel's telephone and his own room number. «I'll come straight to the branch office. I should be there by ten A.M.

«I certainly think we ought to discuss this matter with His Excellency.

Blade suspected that telling J to be tactful with Lord Leighton was like teaching his grandmother to suck eggs. But you couldn't be too careful in dealing with Lord Leighton, with his improbably brilliant mind and impossibly short temper. Also, J sometimes behaved toward Blade like a mother hen with one chick. Blade knew why J did this, and also knew it could sometimes cause more problems than the Project could tolerate.

Whatever J said to Leighton, Blade hoped he'd say it before Leighton discovered that his secret scheme wasn't a secret anymore. Otherwise there wouldn't be much chance of avoiding a bloody awful scene. Blade shuddered at the thought, considered having another drink, then decided against it. He was going to be getting up early if he wanted to be in London by ten tomorrow morning. He did a quick one hundred and fifty push-ups; then with his pajamas and towel over his arm, he walked into the bathroom.