J had had enough. The smarmy old bastard. Who in bloody hell did he think he was fooling?

He told the old man to stop using the collective pronoun. «I am not having any part of it,» he said. «Richard is retired, and if I have anything to do with it he's going to stay retired. I know what's going on in that scheming old brain, Leighton, and I will advice Blade against listening to you. I also intend to tell him what happened to Dexter-exactly and in detail-that the man is a hopeless maniac and will never be well again.»

The old boffin did not flare as J expected. Instead he contrived to look hurt but continued to smile. «As though I would ask the lad to come back, after all he has done. You must think of me as an insensitive monster, J, if you believe that. I know the terrors the dear boy has faced on his trips through the computer. I know the dreadful strain he has been under, and that he has discharged his patriotic duty to England many times over. If it were not for the fact that we are so close to a breakthrough in teleportation, actually on the brink of being able to mine DX, to bring back every sort of treasure from DX into our own dimension, I wouldn't dream of even suggesting-«

J could not listen to any more. He placed his Homburg squarely on his head and walked to the door. There he turned and pointed his rolled umbrella at his Lordship like a spear.

«The hell you wouldn't dream of suggesting. You will! And I can't stop you. But I can damn well warn Dick, tell him about that poor fellow up in Scotland and advise him with all my heart not to listen to you.»

After J left, Lord Leighton sat for a moment behind his desk. Presently he got up and paced the office, dragging his feet, rubbing the pain in his hunched back, his eyes half closed. His thin white hair floated like a halo over a pink scalp, giving him a saintly air that was misleading. But he was no sinner, either. He was a scientist, one of the best in the world, and right now he had a job to do.