‘COLONEL Cavenagh.’
As Louis Claverdon spoke the name he gave a sign. The chuprassi salaamed profoundly, and, without a word, threw open the door by which he stood, salaaming again as the caller passed to the room beyond. The door clicked . behind him, shutting out the prying world; and the grey-haired, ruddy-faced man of the temple of secrets, which that room represented, swung round , in his chair and nodded cheerfully to his visitor.
‘Glad to see you, Claverdon. You’re on time. Take a chair…. The cigars are there on the table at your elbow. ‘Scuse me one minute.’
He turned to the desk again, scrawled a short note, and sealed it; whilst, with a deliberation that evidenced character, Claverdon selected and lit a cigar. Then the man at the desk touched a bell-push, and when it was answered by a subordinate, who appeared through a second door, handed to him the sealed note with curt instruction to despatch it immediately. When the door had clicked behind the subordinate, Colonel Cavenagh turned and faced his visitor, who sat waiting for him to begin. There was a moment’s silence, then the colonel smiled.
‘No curiosity, Louis?’
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