Which, considering his profession, was bloody unlikely.

He crossed the room to the bar, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet and a glass. He had just put his hand on the soda-water siphon when the telephone rang. Blade picked up the receiver while he poured out the whiskey with the other hand.

«Hello, Richard?»

Blade couldn't help tensing for a moment, and he felt his heartbeat speed up in a brief flurry. The voice on the line belonged to the man called J. He was Blade's chief-among other things.

«Yes, sir?»

«Are you alone?» J had ever approved of Blade's open and energetic pursuit of women, but he had never done anything to interfere with it, either. He would not do that to Blade, whom he loved like the son he had never had. Besides, it was simply not proper for one gentleman to intrude into the private affairs of another or to pass judgment on them. And J was a gentleman to his fingertips.

He was also one of the most formidable spymasters in the history of intelligence operations.

«Yes, sir.» Blade couldn't help adding ruefully, «I hadn't planned to be, but that's the way it worked out.»

J's voice held a tinge of amusement as he continued. «Well, then, Richard. Will you be free to be at the Tower tomorrow at eleven?»

Blade grinned. «Of course, sir.»

«Very good, Richard,» said J. «His lordship will be waiting.» A click, and the line went dead.

Blade slowly put the receiver back in its cradle and finished preparing the Scotch and soda. Then he stretched out on the sofa and sipped it leisurely, savoring the smell and taste of every drop. It might be a long time before he tasted good Scotch again. In fact, he might never do so at all.