“Knowing how modest you soldiers are in talking of your exploits,” he remarked to Granet, “I have pleaded for seclusion. Here, in the intervals of our being served with dinner, you can spin me yarns of the Front. The whole thing fascinates me. I want to hear the story of your escape.”
They seated themselves, and Sir Alfred studied the menu for a moment through his eyeglass. After the service of the soup they were alone. He leaned a little across the table.
“Ronnie,” he said, “I thought it was better to ask you here than to have you down at the city.”
Granet nodded.
“This seems all right,” he admitted, glancing around. “Well, one part of the great work is finished. I have lived for eleven days not quite sure when I wasn’t going to be stood up with my back to the light at the Tower. Now it’s over.”
“You’ve seen Pailleton?”
“Seen him, impressed him, given him the document. He has his plans all made.”
“Good! Very good!”
Sir Alfred ate soup for several moments as though it were the best soup on earth and nothing else was worth consideration. Then he laid down his spoon.
“Magnificent!” he said. “Now listen—these submarines. There was a Taube close at hand and I can tell you something which the Admiralty here are keeping dark, with their tongues in their cheeks. Both those submarines were sunk under water.”