"Tell me, Gladys." Thompson was now all attention.
"Well, I once went to see a man in Shaftesbury Avenue who had advertised for a secretary. He was a funny old bean," she added reminiscently, "all eyes and no waist, and more curious as to whether I lived alone, or with my people, than about my speeds. So I told him my brother was a prize-fighter, and——"
"But you haven't got a brother," broke in Thompson.
"I told him that for the good of his soul, Tommy, and of the girls who came after me," she added a little grimly.
"It was funny," she continued after a pause. "He didn't seem a bit eager to engage me after that. Said my speeds (which I hadn't told him) were not good enough; but to show there was no ill-feeling he tried to kiss me at parting. So I boxed his ears, slung his own inkpot at him and came away. Oh! it's a great game, Tommy, played slow," she added as an after-thought, and she hummed a snatch of a popular fox-trot.
"The swine!"
Thompson had just realised the significance of what he had heard.
There was an ugly look in his eyes.
"I then got a job at the Ministry of Economy and later at the Ministry of Supply, and the Chief lifted me out by my bobbed hair and put me into Department Z. That's why I call him my haven of refuge. See, dearest?"
"What's the name of the fellow in Shaftesbury Avenue?" demanded Thompson, his thoughts centring round the incident she had just narrated.
"Naughty Tommy," she cried, making a face at them, "Mustn't get angry and vicious. Besides," she added, "the Chief did for him."