Yet, surely, the Admiralty official could not be blamed, for so completely had Lewin Rodwell practised the deception that he believed him to be a sterling Englishman, red-hot against the enemy and all his knavish devices.
“I suppose you must be pretty busy at the Admiralty just now—eh? The official account of the Battle of the Falklands in to-night’s papers is splendid reading. Sturdee gave Admiral von Spee a very nasty shock. I suppose we shall hear of some other naval successes in the North Sea soon—eh?”
Trustram hesitated for a few seconds. “Well, not just yet,” was his brief reply.
“Why do you say ‘not yet’?” he asked with a laugh. “Has the Admiralty some thrilling surprise in store for us? Your people are always so confoundedly mysterious.”
“We have to be discreet,” laughed Trustram. “In these days one never knows who is friend or foe.”
“Well, you know me well enough, Trustram, to be quite certain of my discretion. I never tell a soul any official information which may come to me—and I hear quite a lot from my Cabinet friends—as you may well imagine.”
“I do trust you, Mr Rodwell,” his friend replied. “If I did not, I should not have told you the many things I have regarding my own department.”
Lewin Rodwell smoked on, his legs crossed, his right hand behind his head as he gazed at his friend.
“Well, you arouse my curiosity when you say that the Admiralty have in store a surprise for us which we shall know later. Where is it to take place?”
Again Charles Trustram hesitated. Then he answered, with some reluctance: