Dagger Magic

Still smiling, she hugged her arms to her shoulders in wonderment. "Dr. Sinclair, I don't know how to thank you. I wish - I wish you didn't have to go away right now. But since you do, I hope everything goes well for you."

So do I, Adam thought as he bade his patient farewell and rose to depart, for resolution of the Irish affair was apt to be of a totally different level of magnitude than what he had managed to accomplish with Claire.

"This thing you bought in Glasgow," said Peregrine to his wife as they headed toward Edinburgh Airport a few hours later. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

Julia Lovat clucked her tongue in mild derision. "Of course it's bigger than a breadbox. If it were smaller than a breadbox, I wouldn't have had to make arrangements for having it delivered."

"Just checking," said her husband. "Is it bigger than a fridge-freezer?''

Julia considered. "Equal volume, different proportions. And please look out for that farm machine."

The machine in question was a heavy-duty tractor towing a seed-drill behind it, just coming out of the Gogar Roundabout ahead of them. It was rumbling along at a snail's pace, its bulky wheels overlapping the broken yellow line at the center of the westbound carriageway.

"He's got a perfectly good lane of his own," Peregrine complained loftily. "I don't see why he should want half of mine as well. And what's a combo like that doing out on the city bypass, anyway?"

"Bypassing the city, I would imagine," Julia said drily. "Even farmers occasionally have to get from A to B." Pausing to whip a glance over her shoulder, she added, "Here's your chance to overtake, if you want to."

"Just watch me," said Peregrine. "This is what Morris Minors were made for."

The Morris Minor in question was the Lovats' workhorse vehicle, a miniature estate wagon with wood-panelled sides and enough space in the rear to lay paintings flat and accommodate Peregrine's artist's paraphernalia. Today it held only an olive-green canvas carryall, his sketchbox, and a green waxed jacket. When Peregrine applied pressure to the accelerator, the little car leapt forward, bypassing the tractor with a clear yard to spare. A sign pointing the way to the Turn-house Airport Exit loomed ahead.

"And about time!" Peregrine declared.

He decelerated into the exit lane just as a British Midlands jet roared in low overhead on its way to land. Julia glanced at her watch.

"It's only half past two," she announced. "You've still got a bit of time to spare, if you want to keep guessing."

Peregrine had been relying on the game to provide a distraction from darker, more unsettling thoughts about his impending trip. Concerning its object, he had told Julia as much of the truth as he dared - that it had to do with the body they had found, now known to be that of an Irish Fisheries officer named Michael Scanlan. It was police business, and Peregrine had been asked to assist McLeod and Adam. He had mentioned the Kriegsmarine flag found on Scanlan's body, and that they hoped to find the German U-boat from which it came, but of the Black Terma he had said nothing. There seemed to him no point in acquainting his wife with the more ominous aspects of their quest, when there was nothing she could hope to do to offset the danger.

"Well?" Julia asked, on a patient note of challenge. "Don't you have any more questions to ask me about our mystery acquisition?"

Peregrine sighed. "Wouldn't you rather just put me out of my misery and tell me what it is?'' "Where's the fun in that?" Julia demanded. "No, if you're determined to be lazy, you'll just have to wait until you get back. You are planning to come back, aren't you?"

The sudden shift in his wife's tone of voice caught Peregrine off guard. "What kind of a question is that?"

"A serious one," Julia replied. "Is there anyone out there who might object to your going in search of a Nazi ghost-sub?"

The question left Peregrine feeling more than a little disconcerted.

"Nobody I could put a name to," he said guardedly. "But you needn't worry; Adam will see to it that I stay out of trouble. If you don't believe me, just look at Noel. He's been Adam's Second for years, and he's never come to any serious harm."

"There's always a first time," Julia said. "Do me a favor, darling, and don't let this occasion be the one that breaks the record."

Peregrine reached over and lightly stroked her cheek. "I won't," he promised. "Especially now that I've got you to come home to."

After leaving the Morris in one of the outlying car parks, husband and wife made their way arm-in-arm to the terminal building, Peregrine wearing his jacket and with the carryall

slung over his shoulder, Julia carrying his sketchbox. They found McLeod pacing up and down in the vicinity of the Aer Lingus service desk. A navy-blue duffel was pushed up close against the counter, with a twin to Peregrine's waxed jacket laid atop it.

" 'Lo, Noel. Where's Adam?" Peregrine asked.