All he could see was a small frown, making a faint crease in the high, pale forehead. «I thought you had an independent income, Mr. Blade.»

Blade did not snap «Where did you learn that?» but it was a close call. He could not avoid stiffening slightly, however. He had not mentioned one word about his living in their conversation. Elizabeth's question was a definite clue-a nasty one, too.

But he was calm again within seconds. He merely said, «Oh, I do. But the chaps at Consolidated Jute seem to think my father's son is worth something. So I go into the Production Division's office two or three days a week. Mostly, I've better ways to spend my time. But I do have to make that call.» He gently pulled himself free from her arm and strode across the lobby toward the public phone behind one of the marble columns.

It was virtually impossible that this public phone could be tapped by the opposition, so Blade was not worried about his brief message getting to the wrong ears as he spoke into the phone.

«J-Traveler here. Bodkin falling. Listen.»

In plain English:

«J-this is Richard Blade. I think somebody's trying to entrap me. I'm turning on the homer in my car. Alert the Special Branch men and have them trace it and follow me.» He had no need to worry either about the message not being passed on. Any of his cryptic call-signs would trigger the alarm on J's telephone monitor and have the old spymaster on the move in minutes. The head of the secret intelligence division MI6 had not lived as long or risen as high as he had by letting critical messages slip by him.

Secure in the knowledge that he had alerted the appropriate people, Blade rejoined Elizabeth. His hand found her arm again. This time her hand squeezed back with more warmth than before. Hand in hand, they walked out to the garage where Blade had parked his MG. They climbed in, and Blade started up the engine, then turned to Elizabeth.