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"You think I need special coaching in that subject?"

"Pardon me."

"You think I should read this paper?"

"You will find it very significant."

It was nearly eight o'clock when they reached Cheyne Walk. Some of the party, including the neutral guests, had already sickened of Frankie's cocktail and taken their leave.

"The party's really over," said one of the secretaries, not Frankie; she wore espadrilles and the hair through which she spoke was black. "I think Everard wants to go out."

Lieutenant Padfield was engaged in over-paying the taxi; he still, after his long sojourn, found English currency confusing and the driver sought to confuse him further. On hearing these mumbled words he said: "My, is it that late? I ought to be in Ebury Street. If you don't mind I'll take the taxi on."

Guy and Ian did not mind. The Lieutenant had fulfilled his manifest destiny in bringing them here.

Strengthened in her resolution by this defection the secretary, Coney by name, said: "I don't believe there's anything left to drink!"