Margaret had picked up the Star and turned its pages. 'Oh, here are the horoscopes, Jamie. Did you read yours?' Turning his head, he answered testily, 'No, and I wish you wouldn't keep bringing that up.' He wondered if Margaret were trying to bait him in retaliation for their argument earlier. Just lately their relationship had been a trifle strained, he thought, perhaps because they had spent too little time alone. Their last long talk had been when?… oh yes, the evening of the affair at Government House. He supposed he ought to be more considerate of Margaret, but the trouble was, there were so few hours in a day and so many things that were important and could be done only by himself. Perhaps, when some of the preparation he now faced was over, there would be more time…

'What awful gibberish this is!' Margaret rustled the newspaper indignantly. 'Really! – the Star is so self-righteous with its exposes of this and that, and then they print this kind of dishonesty every day.'

'They're probably ashamed of it,' her husband said. 'But it helps sell papers. So they put it near the back hoping no one will notice except those who want to read.'

'Listen! This is your prediction for today, Jamie – Sagittarius.' Margaret read carefully, holding the page towards the light. '"Important and favourable Venus vibrations. Do not worry about your efforts; they have been good and will materialize further. Carry on, and don't lose faith in yourself. But look out for clouds which are becoming bigger."' She put down the paper. 'What rubbish! What appalling rubbish i'

'Yes,' James Howden said, 'isn't it?' It was strange, though, he thought: the reference to the cloud once more. What had it been the time before, just a week and a half ago: beware of the cloud no larger than a man's hand. The phrase was from the Old Testament, wasn't it? The story of Elijah, who had seen a little cloud arise from the sea… and afterwards he had been touched by the angel, and had anointed kings; and later still he had divided the waters of Jordan and risen to heaven in a fiery chariot. But to Elijah the cloud had been an omen of strength. Was it that for himself; or an omen of warning? Which? Suddenly the words of old Mrs Zeeder came back… the day in court at Medicine Hat… I'm a child born under Sagittarius, dear. You'll see.'

'Jamie!' Margaret said sharply.

'What is it?' Abruptly he refocused his thoughts.

'What were you thinking then?'

'I wasn't,' he lied. 'I'd switched my mind off.'

A few minutes later Margaret announced, 'Wing Commander Galbraith invited me to the flight deck. I suppose I'd better go.'

Her husband nodded. 'I wish you would; and apologize for me this trip.' He glanced across the cabin at a wall clock. 'While you're gone I suppose I'd better see young Prowse. He's been bursting with something or other for the past two days.'

Despite the presence of an entourage – the three cabinet ministers and his own senior staff, now in the forward cabin -the Prime Minister had spent little time in Washington with anyone except Arthur Lexington.

'All right,' Margaret said. 'I'll send him in.'

Elliot Prowse, who entered from the forward cabin after Margaret had left, was one of the Prime Minister's two executive assistants. Young, athletically handsome, independently wealthy, and an honours graduate of McGill University, he was serving a political apprenticeship in a manner quite usual nowadays for young men whose ambitions lay towards higher political office. In a few years' time he would resign his present job and seek election to the House of Commons.

Meanwhile, the party made good use of his brains and scholarship, while he himself acquired a unique insight into administrative government, which eventually could be a short cut to cabinet rank.

James Howden was never quite certain how much he liked Prowse, who, at times, could be uncomfortably earnest. But now the Prime Minister's glowing satisfaction about the Washington talks prompted him to be expansive. Waving the assistant to a facing chair, he inquired, 'Well, Elliot, I believe you've something on your mind.'

'Yes, sir.' Prowse sat down carefully, his expression serious as usual. 'K you remember, I started to tell you yesterday…'

'I know you did,' Howden said, 'and I'm sorry I cut you off. But there were special problems – some of them you know – and I couldn't take time out.'

He thought he detected a trace of impatience in the younger man. Well, that was something else you had to learn in politics: to become used to talk, a great deal of it unnecessary, but it was the coinage of the business.

'Mr Richardson and Miss Freedeman have both been in touch with me,' Elliot Prowse said. 'It's about that immigration case in Vancouver.'

'For God's sake, no!' James Howden exploded. 'I've already heard enough of that to last a lifetime.'

'It seems they've been hearing a good deal more in Ottawa.' Prowse consulted a sheet of paper in a file he had brought in.

Howden fumed, 'Haven't people anything else to occupy their damn fool minds? Don't they know there are other things – more important issues – going on in the world?' Announcement of the Act of Union, he thought, would effectively wipe anything about immigration out of the news; when word came, the newspapers would have room for nothing else. But it was too soon yet…

'I can't answer that, sir.' Prowse had a habit of always taking questions literally, rhetorical or not. 'But I do have figures on telegrams and mail received on the subject so far.'

Tell me,' Howden grunted.

'Since you left Ottawa, and up to this morning, there've been two hundred and forty telegrams and three hundred and thirty-two letters addressed to you. All but two telegrams and eighteen of the letters are in favour of the man on the ship and critical of the Government.'

'Well,' Howden growled, 'at least there are twenty people with sense.'

'There have also been some new developments.' Elliot Prowse consulted his notes again. 'The man on the ship apparently has a lawyer who, the day before yesterday, obtained an order nisi for habeas corpus. The application is down for hearing in Vancouver this afternoon.'

'The court will throw it out,' Howden said wearily. 'It's an old legal dodge. I've used it myself.'

'Yes, sir; I understand they hold that opinion in Ottawa. But Mr Richardson is very concerned about newspaper coverage. It seems there's been a good deal. He asked me to report that the news stories are increasing in size and most of them are on page one. Some of the Eastern dailies now have their own reporters in Vancouver covering the case. There were fourteen critical editorials following your own remark before leaving for Washington. Mr Bonar Deitz is also making statements attacking the Government at every opportunity. In Mr Richardson's words, "the Opposition is making hay".'

'What the hell did he think they'd do?' the Prime Minister said angrily. 'Come out to cheer for us?'

'I don't really know what he thought about that.'

Howden snapped irritably, 'And why the hell do you have to answer every question?'

'I always assumed you expected an answer,' Prowse said.

The young man's tone expressed polite surprise and despite his own anger Howden released a smile. 'It isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, except…' His thoughts were on Harvey Warrender.

'There's one other thing,' Elliot Prowse was saying. 'Mr Richardson asked me to warn you there'll be more press questioning at the airport on landing. He says he doesn't see how you can avoid it.'

'I won't do any avoiding,' James Howden said grimly. He looked at his assistant directly. 'You're supposed to be a bright young man. What do you suggest?'

'Well…' Prowse hesitated.

'Go on.'

'If I may say so, sir, you're quite effective when you lose your temper.'