‘Call a hansom,’ said Merton, ‘and put up the notice, “out.”’ He drove to the club, where he found Logan ordering luncheon.
‘Hullo, shall we lunch together?’ Logan asked.
‘Not yet: I want to speak to you.’
‘Nothing gone wrong? Why did you shut me out of the office?’
‘Where can we talk without being disturbed?’
‘Try the smoking-room on the top storey,’ said Logan, ‘Nobody will have climbed so high so early.’
They made the ascent, and found the room vacant: the windows looked out over swirling smoke and trees tossing in a wind of early spring.
‘Quiet enough,’ said Logan, taking an arm-chair. ‘Now out with it! You make me quite nervous.’
‘A client has come with what looks a promising piece of business. We are to disentangle—’
‘A royal duke?’