The flat was an ordinary bed-sitter, with the luxury of a modern kitchen-or at least a modern stove-and a halfway modern bath. Elizabeth waved one hand toward the couch by the kitchen door. «Make yourself at home, Mr.-Richard. The brandy is in the cabinet over the refrigerator. I am going to get out of this dress before I roast in it.»

As Elizabeth had suggested, Blade went to the cupboard. The brandy was there, a Czech brand Blade recognized as highly reputable. He poured out two glasses and cautiously sniffed at both of them. Then he quickly scanned the kitchen. There were more places than he could count where a concealed microphone or even a concealed lens might be lurking. He could never search them all, even if he wanted to.

And Blade didn't want to. He didn't want to give any observers the idea that he was a trained professional at this game-which he had been for nearly twenty years. He wanted to let them think he was a fat and unsuspecting fly that had blundered into their web. At least until the time came for them to discover that they had blundered into his. He grinned.

The spider-versus-spider games of espionage had been his life so long that he could hardly help enjoying it.

The kitchen window opened onto a rust-scarred iron fire escape. Blade looked up and down it as far as he could without opening the window. He noticed that the window locked from the inside. That was usual in this neighborhood. But the lock was open-not usual in this neighborhood. With his eyes on the kitchen door, he carefully flipped the lock closed. Anybody coming down the fire escape and expecting an easy entrance through the kitchen window would get a surprise.