"Fair enough," I said noncommittally, not wanting to be sidetracked now that I had an investigation - indeed, another investigation - to undertake.

I took a last drag on my cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

"I need to note down a few details of the case," I continued, "Which might take a while. I for one am getting hungry. So why don't we grab some dinner?"

Trinity glared at me then, sensing I wasn't being obviously ironic, her face softened into something resembling a smile.

"Okay, then," she replied, "You can pay - claim it from expenses, if you must. And leave those disgusting cigarettes behind."

I stood up and crossed the room to retrieve my hat and coat. Trinity unfolded herself from the davenport and picked up her own coat, a full-length affair in a dull black which she has tossed over the arm of the settee.

"Somewhere low-key?" I suggested, "There's a little place on the corner of the block by my office I know quite well."

She nodded, surprisingly amicably. I held open the door for her - these gentlemanly urges will be the death of me, one of these years - then closed and locked it behind us. Not that those locks had been successful in keeping Trinity out, but I didn't want to make it too easy for all and sundry to come wandering in. One of these days I'll have to find out how she managed to get in, and how she managed to identify my apartment. But the reason I wasn't surprised by her presence was that there was at least one glamour she had not detected or evaded, one I had relatively recently installed at considerable expense, one which flashed me an early warning image of anybody in my apartment as I approached.

There was another reason I wanted to guide Trinity out of the apartment: it was to see if she was genuinely unaccompanied or whether she had some of her colleagues staking the place out. When we hit the street, Trinity strode off purposefully in the direction I indicated, causing me to hurry to catch up with her. She showed no interest in anything around her, but marched on apparently oblivious. I looked around as discreetly as I could manage, but there were no shadows in places I did not expect, no furtive movements in the entrances to alleys, nothing out of place to my trained senses. Perhaps she had come on her own after all.

"This is the place," I said, indicating the brightly-lit entrance to David's Diner.

I held the door open again and Trinity swept inside. The eponymous owner was, for once, not had his usual station by the door, but he spotted me across the half-full restaurant and scurried over to welcome me, his characteristic bonhomie coming to the fore.

"Table for two this evening, Mister Gask?" he enquired in a particularly avuncular tone.

"Yes, please, David," I responded in my finest cheery voice, carefully declining to introduce Trinity despite David's obvious curiosity.

Normally, I would be directed to a quiet booth at the back, not from any disrespect but simply because this is what I would have asked for anyway. But tonight, with a young woman on my arm of quite distinctive appearance - not to mention powerful physical presence - I was shown to the best seat in the house. We were rapidly directed to a large table in the centre of the dining room, clearly visible from the window, not to mention from almost every other diner in the place.

Trinity looked around disinterestedly. David's place is not a posh gourmet restaurant with white linen tablecloths, but has an honest homely atmosphere, and honest homely food, too. It has always had a short and well-chosen menu which varies frequently - which is one thing that keeps me coming back - featuring food which is not messed about with unnecessarily, but competently cooked to order within minimum delay.

"Come here often?" she asked with conscious irony, after David had seated us.

The patron bustled off to chivvy his staff along, most of whom seemed to be relatives of one kind or another. It was a real old-fashioned family business.

"Reasonably frequently," I answered, ignoring her barbs, "The food's pretty reasonably priced and it hasn't killed me yet."

"There's always a first time."

I knew that, by now, her pointed comments were simply automatic defensiveness: nothing personal intended, particularly, just another mechanism for keeping the rest of the world at bay. I perused the menu card, paying special attention to the hand-written specials section. Trinity glanced at the card then put it down. She prided herself on her ability to make even the most inconsequential decisions quickly.

David himself came back to take our order, notebook in hand. Trinity ordered in a few terse words, while I dithered for a while over which of the specials to select. I ordered my usual beer; Trinity would take nothing but water.

"So," I began, "Tell me about your dealings with my dear old tutor, Professor Garrick."

Part 21

Part 23