Sir Alfred glanced across the room.
“Very slightly. I spoke to him an hour ago. He thanked me for some ambulances. He is the chief inspector of hospitals, I think—Major Thomson, his name is.”
“Did you happen to say that I was dining with you?”
Sir Alfred reflected for a moment.
“I believe that I did mention it,” he admitted. “Why?”
Granet struggled for a moment with an idea and rejected it. He drained his glass and leaned across the table.
“He’s a dull enough person really,” he remarked, a little under his breath, “but I seem to be always running up against him. Once or twice he’s given me rather a start.”
Sir Alfred smiled. He called the wine steward and pointed to his nephew’s glass.
“The best thing in the world,” he observed drily, as he watched the wine being poured out, “for presentiments.”