Tommy chuckled. "That's what Latimer thinks. After she left us—I was staying the night with him in Jermyn Street and we'd all three gone back there to talk it over—he said to me in that funny drawling way of his: 'You know, Morrison, that girl will be wasted, even on Lyndon. She ought to be in the Secret Service.'"
I laughed. "I'm grateful to the Secret Service," I said, "but there are limits even to gratitude."
For perhaps three-quarters of an hour we remained undisturbed, while Latimer was presumably presenting his report to the authorities. Every now and then we heard footsteps pass down the corridor, and on one occasion an electric bell went off with a sudden vicious energy that I should never have expected in a Government office. The time passed quickly, for we had plenty to talk about; indeed, our only objection to waiting was the fact that we were both beginning to get infernally hungry, and it seemed likely to be some time yet before we should be able to get anything to eat.
At last there came a discreet knock at the door, and an elderly clean-shaven person with the manners of a retired butler appeared noiselessly upon the threshold. He bowed slightly to us both.
"Lord Lammersfield wishes to see you, gentlemen. If you will be good enough to follow me, I will conduct you to his presence."
We followed him along the corridor and up a rather dingy staircase, when he tapped gently at a door immediately facing us. "Come in," called out a voice, and with another slight inclination of his head our guide turned the handle and ushered us into the room.
It was a solemn-looking sort of apartment furnished chiefly with bookcases, and having a general atmosphere of early Victorian stuffiness. At a big table in the centre two men were sitting. One was Latimer; the other I recognized immediately as Lord Lammersfield.
I had never known him personally in the old days, but I had often seen him walking in the Park, or run across him at such popular rest cures as Kempton and Sandown Park. He had changed very little in the interval; his hair was perhaps a trifle greyer, otherwise he looked just the same debonair picturesque figure that the Opposition caricaturists had loved to flesh their pencils on.
He got up as we entered, regarding us both with a pleasant whimsical smile that put me entirely at my ease at once.
"This is Lyndon," said Latimer, indicating me; "and this is Morrison."