"Perhaps I am and do," said Duchemin patiently. "One feels one has
earned a holiday, if ever anybody did in your blessed S. S."

"Ah! You think so?"

"You'd think so if you'd been mucking round the East End all Winter
with your life in your hands."

"Still--at your age--I'd be thinking about retiring instead of asking
for a rest."

Although Duchemin knew very well that he was merely being ragged in
that way of deadly seriousness which so often amuses the English, he
chose to suggest sourly: "My resignation is at your disposal any time
you wish it."

"Accepted," said Wertheimer airily, "to take effect at once."

To this Duchemin merely grunted, as who should say he didn't consider
this turn of conversation desperately amusing. And Wertheimer resuming
his chair, the two remained for some moments in silence, a silence so
doggedly maintained on both sides that Duchemin was presently aware of
dull gnawings of curiosity. It occurred to him that his caller should
have found plenty to do in his bureau in the War Office....

"And to what," he enquired with the tedious irony of ennui, "is one
indebted for this unexpected honour on the part of the First
Under-Secretary of the British Secret Service? Or whatever your
high-sounding official title is..."