To his surprise Lewis was as white as chalk, and his hand trembled.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said, “I would much rather not come. I don’t feel very well.” Collins gazed keenly at him for a moment.
“How long have you felt ill?” he said.
“Only just a few minutes ago, sir, I think it’s the heat.”
“Let’s get someone else, then, only hurry along, I want to get to my tennis,” said Collins impatiently.
Sinclair was about to grumble, but a look from Collins made him silent. “Go and get two men then at once. Tell them to meet us at the door.”
“What the devil was the matter with Lewis?” said Sinclair in the car. “He is my right-hand man.”
“Dunno,” said Collins who was driving, “wait till we know what has happened.”
Every incident that transpired from that moment was so stamped on the memory of the two men that there was no mistake about the facts.
On arriving at the door of the Home Secretary’s house, Sinclair stationed Smith at the front entrance, with orders not to show himself, but to watch.