“I was coming to look for you,” she said, “now that the house is quiet. I have something to say to you, General Hannay.”
She knew my name and must be somehow in the business. The thought entranced me.
“Thank God I can speak to you freely,” I cried. “Who and what are you—living in that house in that kind of company?”
“My good aunts!” She laughed softly. “They talk a great deal about their souls, but they really mean their nerves. Why, they are what you call my camouflage, and a very good one too.”
“And that cadaverous young prig?”
“Poor Launcelot! Yes—camouflage too—perhaps something a little more. You must not judge him too harshly.”
“But ... but—” I did not know how to put it, and stammered in my eagerness. “How can I tell that you are the right person for me to speak to? You see I am under orders, and I have got none about you.”
“I will give you proof,” she said. “Three days ago Sir Walter Bullivant and Mr Macgillivray told you to come here tonight and to wait here for further instructions. You met them in the little smoking-room at the back of the Rota Club. You were bidden take the name of Cornelius Brand, and turn yourself from a successful general into a pacifist South African engineer. Is that correct?”
“Perfectly.”
“You have been restless all evening looking for the messenger to give you these instructions. Set your mind at ease. No messenger is coming. You will get your orders from me.”