"You've wirelessed?" asked Colonel Walton.
"The whole story. They're bound to pick it up at Auchinlech."
"And the Skipper?"
"Oh! just what we actually know, I should say," responded Sage, and Colonel Walton nodded his agreement.
"They're puzzled over those announcements withdrawing the reward," said Sage a few minutes later. "We ought to be hearing from the Skipper soon."
"He's already been through while you were changing. I'm going round at five. You're coming too," added Colonel Walton, as he lighted a fresh cigar. "What about Finlay?"
"Gone home to see his wife," said Sage. "He's as domesticated as a Persian kitten," he added with all the superiority of a confirmed bachelor.
In another room Gladys Norman was fussing over a wounded hero.
"Poor 'ickle Tommikins." she crooned, as she sat on the arm of his chair and rumpled the hair of Special Service Officer Thompson. "Did 'ums hurt 'ums poor 'ickle arm. Brave boy!" and then she bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek, whereat Thompson blushed crimson.
"Department Z. makes its traditions as it goes along," Malcolm Sage had once said. "It's more natural."