Henry's--why, the place is like a club. Where are the enemies' ears to
come from, I should like to know?"

"Where we least expect to find them, as a rule," was the grave reply.

"Quite right," Lutchester, who had just rejoined them, agreed. "They
still say, you know, that our home Secret Service is just as bad as our
foreign Secret Service is good."

Holderness smiled in somewhat superior fashion.

"Can't say that I have much faith in that spy talk," he declared. "No
doubt there was any quantity of espionage before the war, but it's
pretty well weeded out now. I say, how good civilisation is!" he went
on, his eyes dwelling lovingly on the interior of the restaurant.
"Tophole, isn't it, Lutchester--these smart girls, with their furs and
violets and perfumes, the little note of music in the distance, the
cheerful clatter of plates, the smiling faces of the waiters, and the
undercurrent of pleasant voices. Don't laugh at me, please, Miss Van
Teyl. I've three weeks more of it, by George--perhaps more. I don't go
up before my Board till Thursday fortnight. Dash it, I wish Sandy would
hurry up!"

"You never told me how you got your wound," Pamela observed, as the
conversation flagged for a moment.

"Can't even remember," was the careless reply. "We were all scrapping
away as hard as we could one afternoon, and nearly a dozen of us got
the knock, all at the same time. It's quite all right now, though,
except for the stiffness. It was the gas did me in.... What a fellow