Adams swallowed hard.

"Martial Arts? But ... but Mister Slate is a black belt, sir."

Napoleon smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.

"I am well aware. That's why I called it an exhibition and not a fight. Half an hour, Mister Adams."

With that, Napoleon continued on his original mission - getting a fresh cup of coffee for himself, tea for Illya, and sandwiches for them both. For his part, Mark sat back down and continued eating. April noted that while the stares - and a few glares - continued, the muttering had vanished.

"Black belt?"

"In Karate, yes. You?"

"Red."