Hall grinned. "You have the necessary proof?"
"Absolutely. To the last word, old man. To the last word."
"May I have a copy of your report?"
"Of course. I hope you will get better results, though."
"May I ask an impertinent question, sir?"
"Be as impertinent as you wish. I'm sixty-four years old, Hall, and if I can't put up with Yank impertinence in this late stage, I deserve no sympathy."
"Well then, and don't answer if you think me too brash, Fielding, it's simply ..."
"Hold on!" Fielding held up a restraining hand. "Let me write your question out on this slip of paper and after you ask it, I'll show you what I've written." He scribbled a few words on the paper, covered them with his left hand.
"Are you British Intelligence?" Hall asked him.
Fielding handed Hall the slip of paper. On it was written: Q. Fielding, old man, are you a British agent? A. No, my fine impertinent friend. Believe it or not, I am not a British agent.