"I think," mused Bodie, running his eye with the swift expertise of a Professional over the serried ranks of heavy white crockery ranged untidily along the CI5 canteen's heated counter like raw recruits on a parade ground, "I fancy some dick."

One FBI man started like a goosed bridesmaid and stared, uncertain he'd heard correctly; the other edged a few unobtrusive inches further from both CI5 men. After all, you couldn't be too careful; heard some funny tales about these Brits -- boarding schools and nannys did strange things to a man's development so they said. And look at Oscar Wilde -- Doyle turned a heavy-lidded gaze upon his partner and pursed his lips. Not knowing this laid-back sensuality to be Doyle's normal expression, the FBI man gulped down panic.

"Spotted dick?" Doyle said dubiously, the inexplicable adjective only adding to his listeners' confusion.

"Is there any other kind?" Bodie asked, bestowing an unsubtle wink on the second American, whose jaw sagged another puzzled inch.

Doyle shrugged. "Not that I ever heard of. But think of all those calories." He shook his head, tangled curls spraying dandruff like falling May-blossom.

"Hardly any," Bodie retorted, indignant. "Are there?" He appealed to the second American for confirmation; the man paled, backing away and into a tall, dark-haired agent who steadied him kindly, the touch burning through worsted and cotton to shrinking American skin.

"You makin' advances or just unsteady on your pins?" Murphy asked in a spirit of friendly research.

"Er... I don't know," floundered the American, breaking free and answering Bodie.

"Ought to make up your mind about a thing like that," Murphy reproved, picking up his tray and moving on to the cash desk. "Could get yourself into trouble," he added over his shoulder.

"About a thousand, the way you gulp it down," Doyle said, disapproving.

The two Americans exchanged glances, wide-eyed.

Such lack of decent public reticence was quite shocking; didn't accord at all with all they'd heard about British reserve and unfriendliness, either.

"Remember this," Doyle added, reaching around the first American to prod his partner's waistline meaningly; his aim deflected by the man's reflexive withdrawal the finger landed instead unerringly upon the soft swelling nestled at the top of Bodie's left thigh.

"Hey!" Bodie said, shocked. "Ray Doyle, can't you even contain your appetites in public?" He grinned.

Doyle stared at him, peeved. "Better than you can, mate," he said pointedly. "Think of Macklin!"

"I am," Bodie protested. "Need to keep up me strength if I'm to deal with him. I'm a growing lad," he added, pathos personified.

Ignoring him with the ease of long practice Doyle surveyed the Americans' trays. "Got all you want, you two? Pudding, either of you?"

"Have some spotted dick," Bodie suggested, always willing to be helpful to foreigners bewildered by strange customs and menus. He shoved a plateful of soggy-looking white stuff dotted with black currants onto the second man's tray. "'s lovely with custard," he added, and then hissed into the startled ear: "'s OK, if you don't like it, I'll eat it for you."

-- THE END --

---

Spotted Dick: Sieve tog: 4oz flour, a pinch of salt and ltsp baking powder. Add 4oz breadcrumbs, 3--4oz shredded suet and 3z currants. Mix to a soft, dropping consistency with milk or water. Turn into a greased basin, two--thirds filling it. Cover with greased paper and steam for 2-3 hours. Serve with custard or lemon sauce.