The young earl flushed slightly, recognizing a polite putdown when he heard one. To cover his embarrassment he went over to the sideboard and mixed two stiff Scotch-and-sodas. Then he returned to his chair and the two men got down to business.

Once they did, it was a simple matter of two phone calls to London-one apiece-and a few lines scribbled on a sheet of paper torn from the note pad next to the telephone. And MI6 found itself prospectively in possession of fifteen hundred acres of Herefordshire, at something less than ten pounds per acre.

After that, J went out to his Rover and put in two more calls on his scrambler-equipped radio-telephone. Both of these were also to London. One was to a man named Lord Leighton.

«Leighton, we've got the place for the new training center.»

«Splendid work. Where?»

«Not even on a scrambled line, if you don't mind.»

«Oh, to be sure, to be sure.»

«I'm starting back to London in a few minutes. Can you meet me for lunch at my club? Tomorrow at noon?»

«Certainly.»

«See you then.»

The second call was to a man named Richard Blade.

«Richard, my boy. How are you?»

«Tolerably well, sir. Just got back from Scotland. Fishing, a little rock-climbing, you know.»

«Fishing for what, Richard?» J knew that Blade was rather a woman-chaser, although he was always a gentleman about it. J neither approved nor disapproved.

«Salmon, sir. Nothing else,» Blade replied with a hint of mock reproach in his voice.

«Very good, very good. Now-we've picked up a place to use for that training facility I mentioned.»

«The one for the new agents-if and when?»

«Precisely.»

«Any progress on finding anybody to train there?»

«None that I've heard of lately. The PM promised me a report ten days ago, but nothing's come through.»