“He is an exceedingly plausible fellow,” Thomson explained, “and as you are just back from the Front, and brought dispatches, he might very possibly regard you as a likely victim.”

“Can’t make bricks without straw,” Granet laughed, “and I know no more about the campaign than my two eyes have seen.  I was saying only yesterday that, unless you have a staff billet, it’s wonderful how little the ordinary soldier picks up as to what is going on.  As a matter of fact, though,” he went on, twisting the fox terrier’s ear a little, “no one has called here at all except yourself, during the last hour or two.  There aren’t many of my pals know I’m back yet.”

“Are there many other people living in the building?” Major Thomson asked.

“The ground-floor here,” the other replied, “belongs to a prosperous cigarette manufacturer who lives himself upon the first floor.  This is the second and above us are nothing but the servants’ quarters.  I should think,” he concluded thoughtfully, “that you must have been mistaken about the fellow turning in here at all.”

Thomson nodded.

“Very likely,” he admitted.  “It was just a chance, any way.”

“By-the-bye,” Granet inquired curiously, looking up from the dog, “how did you know that I roomed here?”

“I happened to see you come in, or was it go out, the other day—­I can’t remember which,” Major Thomson replied.

The telephone upon the table tinkled out a summons.  Granet crossed the room and held the receiver to his ear.

“This is Captain Granet speaking,” he said.  “Who are you, please?”

The reply seemed to surprise him.  He glanced across at his visitor.

“I shall be delighted,” he answered into the instrument.  “It is really very kind of you. . . .  About a quarter past eight? . . .  Certainly!  You’ll excuse my not being able to get into mufti, won’t you? . . .  Ever so many thanks. . . .  Good-bye!”

He laid down the receiver and turned to Thomson.

“Rather a coincidence,” he observed.  “Seems I am going to see you to-night at dinner.  That was Miss Geraldine Conyers who just rang up—­asked me if I’d like to meet her brother again before he goes off.  He is spending the afternoon at the Admiralty and she thought I might be interested.”

Major Thomson’s face was expressionless and his murmured word non-committal.  Granet had approached the dark mahogany sideboard and was fingering some bottles.

“Let me mix you a cocktail,” he suggested.  “By Jove!  That fellow Conyers would be the fellow for your American chaplain to get hold of.  If he is spending the afternoon down at the Admiralty, he’ll have all the latest tips about how they mean to deal with the submarines.  I hear there are at least three or four new inventions which they are keeping dark.  You like yours dry, I suppose?”

Thomson had risen to his feet and leaned forward towards the mirror for a moment to straighten his tie.  When he turned around, he glanced at the collection of bottles Granet had been handling.