He was far too occupied with his own thoughts to take in any impression from outside; and it was only when the taxi came to an abrupt halt that he suddenly realised he was already in St. James’s Square. With an impatient shrug he pulled himself together, and tossing away the stump of his cigarette, jerked open the door.

He had barely set foot inside the big, sombre hall of the Club when he caught sight of Joe Anstey emerging from the library. The next moment his fingers were being crushed in a welcoming grip, and the cheery voice of his host was pouring out a flood of greetings and questions.

“Well, well, this is grand. How are you, and where the devil have you sprung from? Nearly threw a fit when I got your wire. Hadn’t the remotest notion you were back in England, let alone up in Town. When did you get home, and why on earth didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“Give us a chance,” pleaded Owen. “I’ll answer everything as soon as I feel a trifle stronger. What I want at this moment is a large whisky.”

“That’s easy. Shove your hat up there and let’s go into the bar. I’ve ordered lunch for one o’clock, so we’ll just have time for a quick one.”

He led the way into a very long, narrow room, equipped with a counter and a selection of easy chairs. A small group of members who were sipping cocktails and nibbling stuffed olives glanced round with a friendly air, but, disregarding the unspoken invitation to join their company, he piloted his guest towards an empty leather settee at the farther end of the apartment. A mournful-looking waiter who was lurking in the background shuffled forward to take their order.

“Double whisky and a dry sherry,” he rapped out, and then, leaning back contentedly and crossing his legs, subjected Owen to a brief but critical scrutiny.

“You haven’t altered the least, except that you’re a shade thinner. I suppose that comes of living on puppy dogs and bird’s-nest soup.”

“To be quite honest, I’ve never tasted either.” Owen laughed. “The Admiralty are desperately conservative. Even out in China we still got our roast beef and treacle tart. I did try one native joint in Hong Kong just out of curiosity, and as a result I spent most of the next two days in strict retirement.” He paused as the waiter came back with the glasses. “Barbarous habit filling oneself up with whisky just before lunch, but the fact is I’m feeling a trifle dim. Just had what you might describe as ‘a kick in the pants’.”

“That so?” Joe raised his eyebrows. “Nothing really serious, I hope?”

“Tell you about it later.” Owen drained off his tumbler and set it down on the shelf beside him. “First of all, I want to hear your news. How are things generally, and what about the punting championship? Manage to pull it off again this year?”

“Didn’t even enter. Too infernally busy.”

“You don’t say so! Has there been a boom in motor tractors, or have you suddenly gone ambitious and taken to politics?”

“Neither.” Joe glanced across in the direction of the bar and lowered his voice. “Don’t want to broadcast the information, but as a matter of fact we’re working for the Government. We’ve started a new factory up in the Midlands and we’re turning out aeroplane parts. At least, we shall be in about six weeks’ time.”

“Good work. I imagine we can do with them, from what Churchill was saying in the House the other day. I heard some of his speech on the wireless.”

“Do with them!” repeated Joe. “If you want my opinion, we can do with about ten times the number we’re arranging for now. I don’t mind betting a fiver we’ll be at war with Germany inside the next eighteen months.”

“I imagine you’d win.” Owen’s lips twisted into a mirthless smile.