became easier and more familiar. "Don't let me disturb you, gentlemen. My
business with you, Hector, will wait. I have finished my work, and can
rest with a clear conscience."

"Couldn't we persuade you to stay a few minutes with us, and join us in a
whisky-and-soda?"

"Yes, by all means, Hector. But no whisky. Give me a glass of my own
wine; I see a bottle on the sideboard."

He came round the table and sat down in the big chair. "Pray seat
yourself, Captain," he said, waving his hand towards the stool which
Beaumaroy had lately occupied.

The Captain obeyed the gesture, but his huge frame looked awkward on the
low seat; he felt aware of it, then aware of the cap on his head; he
snatched it off hastily, and twiddled it between his fingers. Mr.
Saffron, high up in the great chair, sitting erect, seemed now actually
to dominate the scene--Beaumaroy standing by, with an arm on the back of
the chair, holding a tall glass full of the golden wine ready to Mr.
Saffron's command; the old man reached up his thin right hand, took it,
and sipped with evident pleasure.

Alec Naylor was embarrassed; he sat in silence. But Beaumaroy seemed
quite at his ease. He began with a statement which was, in its literal
form, no falsehood; but that was about all that could be said for it on
the score of veracity. "Before you came in, sir, we were just speaking of
uniforms. Do you remember seeing our blue Air Force uniform when we were
in town last week? I remember that you expressed approval of it."