He looked around the half-deserted bar, dusty in the slanting evening sunlight, filered through the uncleaned cutains at the uncleaned windows. Adopting the correct attitude of slightly hesitant keeness he bought his pint and set the box on the little round table in the corner. The instrument sat before him, its black case and tell-tale butterfly logo looking almst indistinguishable from the real thing. He breathed deep, lest he give a hint of the excitement within. Sipping his beer, Suggers peered over the cleverly disguised Mk IX anti-bodrhan death-ray. Patience, patience ..... They would come .... they would come ....