“You will see that my visiting her does not prejudice me further with the Board, sir?” I ventured to say.  “You can take that for granted,” the Duke said.  So that afternoon I called at No. 29, Bloomsbury Street, and in a shabby back room of a gloomy, smoke-begrimed lodging-house I found my father and Mrs. Smith-Lessing.  He was lying upon a horsehair sofa, apparently dozing.  She was gazing negligently out of the window, and drumming upon the window pane with her fingers.  My arrival seemed to act like an electric shock upon both of them.  It struck me that to her it was not altogether welcome, but my father was nervously anxious to impress upon me his satisfaction at my visit.

“Now,” he said, drawing his chair up to the table, “we can discuss this little matter in a business-like way.  I am delighted to see you, Guy, quite delighted.”

“What matter?” I asked quietly.

My father coughed and looked towards my stepmother, as though for guidance.  But her face was a blank.

“Guy,” he said, “I am sure that you are a young man of common sense.  You will prefer that I speak to you plainly.  There are some fools at our end—­I mean at Paris—­who think they will be better off for a glance at the doings of your Military Board.  Up to now we have kept them supplied with a little general information.  Lord Blenavon, who is a remarkably sensible young man, lent us his assistance.  I tell you this quite frankly.  I believe that it is best.”

He was watching me furtively.  I did my best to keep my features immovable.

“With Lord Blenavon’s assistance,” my father continued, “we did at first very well.  Since his—­er—­departure we have not been so fortunate.  I will be quite candid.  We have not succeeded at all.  Our friends pay generously, but they pay by results.  As a consequence your stepmother and I are nearly penniless.  This fact induces me to make you a special—­a very special—­offer.”

My stepmother seemed about to speak.  She checked herself, however.

“Go on,” I said.

My father coughed.  There was a bottle upon the table, and he helped himself from it.

“My nerves,” he remarked, “are in a shocking state this morning.  Can I offer you anything?”

I shook my head.  My father poured out nearly a glass full of the raw spirit, diluted it with a little, a very little, water, and drank it off.

“Your labours, my dear boy,” he continued, “I refer, of course, to the labours of the Military Council, are, I believe, concentrated upon a general scheme of defence against any possible invasion on the part of France.  Quite a scare you people seem to be in.  Not that one can wonder at it.  These military manoeuvres of our friends across the water are just a little obvious even to John Bull, eh?  You don’t answer.  Quite right, quite right!  Never commit yourself uselessly.  It is very good diplomacy.  Let me see, where was I?  Ah!  The general scheme of defence is, of course, known to you?”