“I wonder if you could tell me: is there anyone who would have an interest in getting hold of his papers?”
Colonel Osbert again cleared his throat. “I can tell you this, sir. I don’t understand the position of Mrs. Dean and her husband. And I shall be glad, I don’t mind owning, I shall be very glad to have poor dear Arthur’s papers in my hands.”
“Ah, thank you so much,” said Lomas, and with bland adroitness got Colonel Osbert outside the door.
“He’s not such a fool as he looks,” Reggie murmured. “But there’s better brains in it than his, Lomas old thing. A bad business, quite a bad business.”
And then a clerk came in. Lomas read the letter he brought and said: “Good Gad! You’re an offensive person, Fortune. Why did you tell me to go to the Foreign Office? Here is the Foreign Office. Now we shall be in the affair for life. The Foreign Office wants me to see His Excellency Mustapha Firouz.”
“Accompanied by Sindbad the Sailor and Chu Chin Chow?” said Reggie. “Who is he?”
“Oh, he’s quite real. He’s the Median Minister. He—Why what is it now?” The question was to the clerk, who had come back with a card.
“Says he’s anxious to see you immediately, sir. It’s very urgent, and he won’t keep you long.”
“Major Dean,” Lomas read, and lifted an eyebrow.
“Oh rather. Let ’em all come,” said Reggie.