“Poor chap!” he observed, watching his cigar smoke curl upwards. “You're in a nasty mess, you know, Henry. Did I tell you that I had a letter from your wife the other day, asking me if I couldn't find you a job?”
Sir Henry waited a little grimly, whilst his friend enjoyed the joke.
“That's all very well,” he said, “but we are on the point of a separation, or something of the sort. I'll admit it was all right at first to run the thing on the Q.T., but that's pretty well busted up by now. Why, according to your own reports, they know all about me on the other side.”
“Not a doubt about it,” the other agreed. “I'm not sure that you haven't got a spy fellow down at Dreymarsh now.”
“I'm quite sure of it,” Sir Henry replied grimly. “The brute was lunching with my wife at the Carlton to-day, and, as luck would have it, I was landed with that Russian Admiral's wife and sister-in-law. You're breaking up the happy home, that's what you're doing, Rayton!”
His lordship at any rate seemed to find the process amusing. He laughed until the tears stood in his eyes.
“I should love to have seen Philippa's face,” he chuckled, “when she walked into the restaurant and saw you there! You're supposed to be off on a fishing expedition, aren't you?”
“I went out after whiting,” Sir Henry groaned, “and I'd just promised to chuck it for a time when I got the Admiral's message.”
“Well, we'll see to your German spy, anyway,” his visitor promised.
“Don't be an ass!” Sir Henry exclaimed irritably. “I don't want the fellow touched at present. Why, he's been a sort of persona grata at my house. Hangs around there all the time when I'm away.”