To this the other responded, after a slight pause, obscurely enough:
"Oh! ancient history, eh? Well, for the matter of that: How are you,
Mister Wertheimer?"

Their hands fell apart, and Monsieur Duchemin proceeded to do away his
hat and stick and chamois gloves; while his friend, straddling in front
of a cold grate and extending his hands to an imaginary blaze, covered
with a mild complaint the curiosity excited by a brief study of that
face of melancholy.

"Pretty way you've got of making your friends wait on your pleasure.
Here I've wasted upwards of two hours of His Majesty's time..."

"How was I to know you'd have the cheek to force your way in here in my
absence and help yourself to my few poor consolations?" Duchemin
retorted, helping himself to them in turn. "But then one never does
know what fresh indignity Fate has in store..."

"After you with that whiskey, by your leave. I say: I'd give something
to know where you ignorant furriners come by this precious pre-War
stuff." But without waiting to be denied this information, Mr.
Wertheimer continued: "Going on the evidence of your looks and temper,
you've been down to Tilbury Docks this afternoon to see Karslake and
Sonia off."

"A few such flashes of intelligence applied professionally, my friend,
should carry you far."

"And the experience has left you feeling a bit down, what?"