Desmond raised his eyebrows.
“... Because,” Mortimer resumed, “I have ventured to ask a few friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have cards, eh?”
Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
“The coming fortnight,” said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into his collar as they sat at the dinner table, “is pregnant with great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in place.”
He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
“I shall be delighted to receive our friends,” Desmond replied, “a glass of sherry?”
“Thank you,” said Mortimer.
“I shall have to provide a few refreshments,” said Desmond. “May I ask how many guests I may expect?”
Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
“Let’s see,” he answered, “there’s Max, that’s one, and Madame Malplaquet, that’s two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself, five!”