“Ask him.” She pointed to the telephone at his side.
“What? Now?”
“Why not?”
“But—but it’s two o’clock,” stammered Hastings. He met the level gaze of his secretary’s blue eyes, lifted the receiver from its hook, and asked for a number.
“Hallo,” he said two minutes later, “is that Colonel Gethryn’s flat?”
“It is,” said the telephone. Its voice was sleepy.
“Is—is Colonel Gethryn in—out—up, I mean?”
“Colonel Gethryn,” said the voice, “who would infinitely prefer to be called Mr. Gethryn, is in his flat, out of bed, and upon his feet. Also he is beginning to become annoyed at——”
“Good Lord—Anthony!” said Hastings. “I didn’t recognise your voice.”
“Now that you have, O Hastings, perhaps you’ll explain why the hell you’re ringing me up at this hour. I may mention that I am in execrable temper. Proceed.”