Cloak of Darkness by Helen MacInnes Page B

bemused, sat on the couch beside her with three slips of paper in her hand. A fourth was added as Gemma tore off a page. “There—that’s the last one. I know Bob will love it.” She said to Renwick with one of her ingenuous side glances, “Just giving Nina some of my casserole recipes.” Then she noticed her husband waiting by the telephone. “Time to leave? I’d better collect the picnic basket. Coming, Nina?” She was already half-way to the kitchen.
    Gemma, thought Renwick, after eighteen years of marriage to Ronald Gilman, had perfected the art of making a tactful retreat. And Nina? An almost imperceptible wink as she passed him, a small flutter of the eyelid, showed she was learning.
    Gilman had already dialled Bernie’s laboratory, began speaking as the kitchen door closed. “Gilman here. Claudel is bringing your little trinket back for some adjustments. Too delicate for us to handle. Expect him within the hour. Special care,” he emphasised and ended his call.
    Claudel was amused. “Little trinket?” He would hardly call the cigarette case that.
    “Bernie’s word for it,” Renwick said wryly, remembering Bernie’s disapproval. “Told me it was time to give up these old-fashioned methods, wanted me to experiment with his latest idea of using a micro-bug with a chip that could record and talk back to me, too.”
    Claudel had picked up his coat and was headed for the kitchen. “I’ll use the rear staircase—the car is parked down there, anyway.” He paused for a moment. “Did you know Bernie has made a chip to imitate a small sequin on a lady’s dress? Now all we need is a girl to wear the damned thing.” Then he was into the kitchen, saying, “Good night, fair ladies, good night. What about dinner at my place next week?” And with a kiss for each of them, he made his exit.
    The Gilmans’ leave-taking was equally short. “Dinner next week?” Gemma asked, and then remembered that if there was one thing that irritated Ron, usually the mildest of men, it was the protracted goodbye. So she didn’t sit down for a last five-minute chat, but let Ron drape her coat around her. “Day and time to be arranged, I suppose. Isn’t that always the way?” she added lightly to sweeten her small criticism. “But at least we saw you tonight.”
    “And thank you for that.” Renwick’s voice said more than his words. A hug and a kiss between the women, an answering nod from Gilman, and he could close the door, lock it securely, and openly look at his watch. Almost twelve.
    “You know my trouble?” Nina asked him as he slipped an arm around her waist and led her back into the living-room.
    “Me.”
    She laughed and shook her head, her soft blond hair falling over her eyes. She brushed it away. “My trouble is that I never can guess what is really happening.”
    “I tell you when I can. And as much as I can.”
    “I know. But only after everything is solved, another case filed away. And not everything is told, either. It can’t be, I suppose.”
    “You suppose right, my love.” He folded his arms around her, held her close.
    “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t probe. I really don’t mean to, but the questions do rise up and won’t lie down.”
    “Like my problems. They always seem to come in clusters.”
    Nina broke free, looked at him anxiously. “That kind of day?” I knew it, she thought; I could sense it over the telephone tonight. “Not just one problem?”
    He eased his voice to reassure her. “Don’t worry, pet. We’ll take them as they come.” New address to follow —the phrase kept haunting him. Essex Gardens could even now be reported to Brimmer. How did he get Nina safely away until that threat was over? He looked around the room. “Yes, this place is too small. I think we have to face another move, honey.”
    Nina stared at him. “Bob! We are scarcely settled! And it does get sunshine and fresh air; the windows are big. It’s so convenient for your office,