“How should I know? Gone up the river, perhaps. It’s a nice mornin’.”
“Well, where does he live?”
“Sometimes ’ere—sometimes in ’is chambers in Ebury Street,” and the man mentioned the number.
“Better come to-morrow, sir, about eleven. Somebody’ll be sure to see you then.”
“To-morrow!” cried the other. “To-morrow! You don’t know what you’re saying, man! To-morrow will be too late. Perhaps it’s too late now. The Germans have landed in England!”
“Oh, ’ave they?” exclaimed the caretaker, regarding both men with considerable suspicion. “Our people will be glad to know that, I’m sure—to-morrow.”
“But haven’t you got telephones, private telegraphs, or something here, so that I can communicate with the authorities? Can’t you ring up the Secretary of State, the Permanent Secretary, or somebody?”
The caretaker hesitated a moment, his incredulous gaze fixed upon the pale, agitated faces of the two men.
“Well, just wait a minute, and I’ll see,” he said, disappearing into a long cavernous passage.
In a few moments he reappeared with a constable whose duty it was to patrol the building.