“I’m not,” Anthony said. Then added, seeing the look of bewilderment: “I don’t quite know what I am, Boyd. You may have to turn me away. I think I’d better see Miss Hoode before I commit myself any further.”
He swung his long legs into the room, patted the doubtful Boyd on the shoulder, sauntered to the door, opened it and passed through. Turning to his right, he collided sharply with another man. A person this, of between forty and fifty, dressed tastefully in light gray; broad-shouldered, virile, with a kindly face marked with lines of fatigue and mental stress. Anthony recoiled from the shock of the collision. The other stared.
“Good God!” he exclaimed.
“You exaggerate, Sir Arthur,” said Anthony.
Sir Arthur Digby-Coates recovered himself. “The most amazing coincidence that ever happened, Gethryn,” he said. “I was just thinking of you.”
“Really?” Anthony was surprised.
“Yes, yes. I suppose you’ve heard? You must have. Poor Hoode!”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”
“But I thought you’d left——”
“Oh, yes,” said Anthony, “I’ve left the Service. Quite a time ago. I’m here because—look here, this’ll sound rot if I try to explain in a hurry. Can we go and sit somewhere where we can talk?”