"Welcome back again, Horridge," he said cordially. "Miles, I'll
ring when I want you."
"Very good, sir," the secretary replied. "There's a fisherman from
Norfolk downstairs, when you're at liberty."
Sir Henry nodded.
"I'll see him presently. Shut him up somewhere where he can smoke."
The young man withdrew, carefully closing the door, around which Sir
Henry, with a word of apology, arranged a screen.
"I don't think," he explained, "that eavesdropping extends to these
premises, or that our voices could reach outside. Still, a ha'porth
of prevention, eh? Have a cigar, Horridge."
"I'm not smoking for a day or two, thank you, sir."
"You look as though they'd put you through it," Sir Henry remarked.
His visitor smiled.
"I've travelled fourteen miles in a barrel," he said, "and we were
out for twenty-four hours in a Danish sailing skiff. You know what
the weather's been like in the North Sea. Before that, the last
word of writing I saw on German soil was a placard, offering a
reward of five thousand marks for my detention, with a disgustingly
lifelike photograph at the top. I had about fifty yards of quay to
walk in broad daylight, and every other man I passed turned to stare
after me. It gives you the cold shivers down your back when you
daren't look round to see if you're being followed.
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