“Hullo, Mr Templar,” said the telephone. “This is Byron Ufferlitz.”
“Baron who?” Simon queried.
“Byron,” said the new voice. “Byron Ufferlitz.”
This voice was not fresh and provocative, although it was apparently trying to be friendly. It sounded as if it was rather overweight and wore a diamond ring and had a cigar in its mouth. It also appeared to think that its name should be recognised immediately and inspire awe in the hearer.
“Have we ever met?” Simon asked.
“Not yet,” said the voice jovially. “But I want to put that right. Will you have lunch with me?”
There were times when Simon’s directness left the Emily Post School of Social Niceties out of the cosmos.
“What for?” he inquired, with the utmost detachment.
“I’m going to give you a job.”
‘Thank you. What is it?”