"I have been away for a week-end's golf," Hebblethwaite explained, as
they took their places at the table. "There comes a time when figures
pall, and snapping away in debate seems to stick in one's throat. I
telephoned directly I got your note. Fortunately, I wasn't doing anything
this evening. We won't play about. I know you don't want to see me to
talk about the weather, and I know something's up, or Leveson wouldn't
have written to me, and you wouldn't be back from Berlin. Let's have the
whole story with the soup and fish, and we'll try and hit upon a way to
put things right before we reach the liqueurs."

"I've lots to say to you," Norgate admitted simply. "I'll begin with the
personal side of it. Here's just a brief narration of exactly what
happened to me in the most fashionable restaurant of Berlin last
Thursday night."

Norgate told his story. His friend listened with the absorbed attention
of a man who possesses complete powers of concentration.

"Rotten business," he remarked, when it was finished. "I suppose you've
told old--I mean you've told them the story at the Foreign Office?"

"Had it all out this morning," Norgate replied.

"I know exactly what our friend told you," Mr. Hebblethwaite continued,
with a gleam of humour in his eyes. "He reminded you that the first duty
of a diplomat--of a young diplomat especially--is to keep on friendly
terms with the governing members of the country to which he is
accredited. How's that, eh?"

"Pretty nearly word for word," Norgate admitted. "It's the sort of