“Now, sir,” said the Pimple to the Spook, “answer, please.”
He got his answers, and thought we were ignorant of what was said. Here they are:
“1. No.
“2. Be careful.
“3. Be careful.
“4. Be most careful.
“5. Your ambition is praiseworthy. Study languages and the Art of Government. Your greatest opportunity lies in Egypt. Seize the first chance you get of going there. Either Jones or Hill can lead you to fame if you earn their joint friendship. By my help Jones’s father raised Lloyd George to his present supreme position. He started more humbly than you.”
The Pimple refused to tell us about the questions or answers. He did not for a moment suspect that we knew anything of either. But at the end of the séance, after a great deal of camouflage talk about the camp and the War and other matters, he led the conversation round, cleverly enough, to Lloyd George, by telling us that an Irishman had attempted to assassinate him. He asked if I knew him. This was what we wanted. I showed him a photograph of the Prime Minister and my father together. The Pimple examined it with minute care.
“Your father—he is a spooker, too?” the Pimple asked.
“All Welshmen are, more or less,” said I, “and he used to be top-hole at it. Why do you ask?”