I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, but you can’t, Ruth! If Sheila knew that I’d given the show away—”

“Hst! Look out—here’s a customer.”

The shop door swung open, and stubbing out her cigarette, Sally jumped up hastily and stepped forward past the desk.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she whispered.

Chapter III

With that silent efficiency that characterised all his actions Watkins deposited a couple of silver dishes upon the sideboard and then cast a final glance round the neat and perfectly appointed breakfast table. As he did so Owen turned back from the open window.

“Another grand morning,” he remarked. “More like July than September.”

“Very remarkable weather indeed, sir,” agreed Watkins. “A trifle belated, if one might use the expression, but none the less agreeable for that.”

“I understand you’ve been having a lousy summer in England.”

“Precisely, sir. It is the exact adjective which I should have selected myself.”

There was a sound of whistling accompanied by approaching steps, and a second later Joe Anstey marched briskly into the room. In his hand was a small sheaf of opened letters which had evidently arrived by the early post.

“Hello! Beaten me by a head.” He tossed his correspondence on to the table and surveyed his guest with an inquiring grin. “What sort of a night did you have? Manage to sleep all right?”

“Not too bad, considering the time we turned in and the amount of whisky you made me drink.”

“Feel you can face some breakfast? Let’s see what there is.” Moving over to the sideboard, Joe lifted up the two covers. “Devilled kidneys and fried eggs and bacon. How about a spot of both? Go splendidly together.”

Without waiting for an answer he ladled out a couple of generous helpings, and carrying them across to the table, planted himself down alongside of Owen who had already taken his seat. Watkins, having apparently decided that everything was in order, faded away to his own quarters, closing the door behind him. From outside, four storeys below, the faint hum of the early-morning traffic along Park Lane drifted up in a monotonous rumble.

“Bound to happen just as you blew along.” With a disgusted shrug Joe pushed across a cup of coffee. “I’ve had an S O S from Halsey screaming for my presence at the Works. He’s heard from the Ministry about this new scheme of theirs, and he thinks we ought to go into a huddle straight away. Says that if I can manage it he’d like me to run up there to-night.”

“Well, you must go, naturally. How long do you imagine you’ll be away?”

“Lord knows. Maybe a couple of nights, maybe a week.” Joe stabbed viciously at a morsel of bacon and transferred it to his mouth. “Won’t interfere with your arrangements, though. You’ll stay on, of course?”

“How about Watkins?”

“He’ll be delighted. As I told you before, you’re the one friend I’ve got with whom he condescends to be a shade human.”

“Makes one feel quite conceited.” Owen laughed. “Still, if that’s really the case, I think I’ll accept your offer. Don’t suppose I’d get as good a breakfast anywhere else.”

“Splendid. That’s all settled, then. If you find it too hot in Town you can always slide down to Playford and have a day on the river. I’ll give you a chit to Martin before I go.”

“Thanks very much.”

“By the way, there’s a cover to one of those punts, so if you happen to feel like taking along some grub and camping for the night you’ve only to mention it to Watkins. He’ll fix you up with a hamper.”

“Sounds gorgeous.” Owen nodded gratefully. “Nothing I’d enjoy more, provided I can get away. Depends upon whether Greystoke has anything to suggest.”

“When’s your appointment?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Hope something comes of it. All I can say is that if they don’t find you a decent berth they must be a pack of blithering nitwits.”

“Can I mention that as being the opinion of an exceptionally acute observer?”

“Certainly. I’ll put it in writing if you like.” Joe chuckled and glanced across at the clock. “Curse it all, I shall have to be pushing along in a minute or two.