Ten o'clock this morning, St Andrew's House.' He looked in the mirror, to straighten his tie, then picked up his jacket from the bedroom chair, over which he had draped it the night before. He was frowning as he fol owed Pam through to the kitchen. 'Wonder what the hell it could be about?' he asked himself aloud. 'Didn't Hewlett say?' 'He said that he didn't know.' 'And you believed him, after what happened yesterday?' Skinner nodded, as he poured cornflakes into two bowls, and reached into the fridge for milk. 'David's one of the good guys. He wouldn't tell me an outright lie. He said "I don't know what it's 140 about", not "I can't tel you", and I take him at his word. Anyway,' he said, 'I can usually tell when someone's telling me porkies.' 'So what do you think it might be about?' 'Could be one or two things. A terrorist whisper from down South, although I'd probably have heard about that too. An attack of nerves over arrangements for his Party's conference in Glasgow this autumn, although Haggerty's well in control there.' Skinner shook his head.
