The room was small and plainly furnished, with a desk in one corner on which stood a typewriter and several telephones. Jean Frazer was bending over a filing cabinet and she looked up, a slight smile on her round, intelligent face. She removed her spectacles with one hand and frowned. “You look pretty rough.”

Chavasse grinned. “I usually do at this time of the morning.”

She was wearing a plain white blouse and a tweed skirt of deceptively simple cut that molded her rounded hips. His eyes followed her approvingly as she walked across to her desk and sat down.

He sat on the edge of the desk and helped himself to a cigarette from a packet that was lying there. He lit it and blew out a cloud of smoke with a sigh of satisfaction. “Now what’s all the fuss about? What’s the Chief got on his mind that’s so important it can’t wait until a respectable hour?”

She shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s waiting for you inside.”

He frowned slightly. “Another job? Already?”

She nodded. “I think it’s something pretty big.”

Chavasse cursed softly and got to his feet. “What does he think I’m made of – iron?” Without waiting for a reply, he walked across to the far door, opened it, and went in.

The room was half in shadow, the only light the shaded lamp that stood upon the desk by the window. The Chief was reading a sheaf of typewritten documents and he looked up quickly, a slight frown on his face. It was replaced by a smile and he waved a hand toward a chair. “So they finally managed to locate you, Paul. Sit down and tell me about Greece.”

Chavasse slumped into the chair and pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Didn’t you get my coded report from the Embassy in Athens?”

The Chief nodded. “I had a quick look at it when it came in yesterday. It seems satisfactory. Any loose ends?”