The girl acknowledged his invitation and accepted it. Brock and I
trailed along like the bodyguards we were supposed to be. I wondered
whether or not Brock suspected me of being more than I appeared to be.
If he didn't, he was stupider than I thought; on the other hand, he
could never be sure. I wasn't worried about his finding out that I was
a United Nations agent; that was a pretty remote chance. Brock didn't
even know the United Nations Government _had_ a Secret Service; it was
unlikely that he would suspect me of being an agent of a presumably
nonexistent body.
But he could very easily suspect that I had been sent to check on him
and the Thurston menace, and, if he had any sense, he actually did. I
wasn't going to give him any verification of that suspicion if I could
help it.
* * * * *
Midguard had an apartment in the executive territory of the Viking
reservation, a fairly large place with plastic-lined walls instead of
the usual painted nickel-iron. Very luxurious for Ceres.
The meal was served with an air of subdued pretension that made
everybody a little stiff and uncomfortable, with the possible
exception of Jack Ravenhurst, and the definite exception of myself. I
just listened politely to the strained courtesy that passed for small
talk and waited for the chance I knew would come at this meal.
After the eating was all over, and we were all sitting around with
cigarettes going and wine in our glasses, I gave the girl the signal
we had agreed upon. She excused herself very prettily and left the
room.
After fifteen minutes, I began to look a little worried. The bathroom
was only a room away--we were in a dining area, and the bathroom was
just off the main bedroom--and it shouldn't have taken her that long
to brush her hair and powder her face.