Blade picked up the two glasses of brandy, went back into the sitting room, and sat down on the couch. As an afterthought, he took off his coat and tie and unbuttoned the collar of his hand-made silk shirt. He didn't need anything in the coat, since he did not go armed in England. He hardly needed to, in any case-not with a fourth dan black belt in karate.

The sound of bare feet on the carpet made him look up. Elizabeth had indeed taken off her dress, and practically everything else she had been wearing. Now she wore a long, flowing nightdress, with full-length sleeves and a high neck. It did not conceal very much, however, for it was semi-transparent. Blade did not need to imagine what Elizabeth's body was like any longer. It was a full-fleshed East European body, a hearty young peasant girl's body. Large breasts thrust out the fabric of the nightdress, and proportionately large nipples thrust out even farther as the breasts swayed.

Blade rose to his feet and held out his arms as she approached, with a broad grin on his face. He would have worn that grin even if he had not found her attractive. But Blade was a man of large appetites and a large capacity for pleasure. He had never been able to make love in a cool or detached manner.

Elizabeth took his hands, and a smile spread across her face, telling Blade that she knew exactly what was on his mind. He hoped she didn't know what he was really thinking-when would her confederates make their move, if they were going to make one? And what kind of move would it be? Was this just a blackmail effort, or were enemy agents really going to try a body-snatch on him?

Elizabeth was picking up her brandy glass, and Blade decided not to try answering those questions. He took his own glass, raised it to clink with hers, and said, «Cheers.»

She smiled. «To a good night's work,» she said, and giggled. Then she drained the glass at one gulp. Blade considered the nervous note in her giggle and the gulped brandy. She wasn't quite able to keep up the air of cheerful sensuality that she was trying to project-at least not without a quick drink. It was long odds that this girl was an amateur, caught in something far beyond her depth. How and why? Another question he wasn't going to answer now.