"What's your little game, Cumberleigh?" demanded the major. "Hanged if I can see what you are driving at."
Lunch was over at Auldhaig Air Station. Most of the officers had drifted in twos and threes into the ante-room to seize the opportunity of enjoying a smoke before falling in on parade. The second-in-command and Captain Cumberleigh found themselves alone.
"I may be mistaken, sir," replied Cumberleigh, "but I'm not at all sure about that fellow Fennelburt."
"What d'ye mean, old thing? asked the major.
"It's a rotten business to explain," replied the captain. "I hope I don't do the fellow an injustice, but I believe he's a spy."
Major Sparrowhawk raised his eyebrows in a manner that indicated incredulous objection.
"Goodness gracious, Cumberleigh!" he exclaimed. "What are you driving at? The idea's preposterous. There are limits to the imagination, and I think you're exceeding them."
"I have reasons, sir,"
"Well, what are they?"
"You remember I asked him about Smithers and Tomlinson? I know for a fact that they were both at Sheerness a week ago."