'Johnnie said you were the only man capable of doin' the job, Captain, the only man with the nous. He was emphatic upon the point, wanted me to tell you about a bookseller fellow in Paris, and a Madame de Santon, or some such, but he slipped away, poor devil. He was in a deuce of a lot of pain at the end, despite the paregoric.'

Moira had given him the key to the desk at which he now sat, striving for some temporizing reaction to Templeton's news.

'Barrow has not mentioned the matter...'

'It was only decided at Board this morning ...'

'You're damned quick with your intelligence,' Drinkwater snapped sharply. 'So much for the confidentiality of the copy room!'

'I believe Mr Barrow wished it to be known, sir, in this roundabout way.'

'How obligin' of him,' Drinkwater muttered, knowing that in the past he had once crossed the Second Secretary and done himself no favour thereby. 'You had better pour us both a glass, Templeton.'

Drinkwater rose, aware that he had still not thoroughly read the dispatch from Helgoland. He moved towards the little half-moon table where the clerk poured the rich madeira. He caught sight of himself reflected in the glass doors of the cabinet. The bottle-green coat did not suit him, and was at odd variance with his old-fashioned queue with its clump of black ribbon nestling at the nape of his neck. He looked a damn fool!

Templeton handed him die glass. 'What are we to do, Templeton?' he asked. 'D'you have any bright ideas? If they want for money, we've no means of raisin' revenue, and if they want value for what little they allow us, how in heaven's name do we give it to 'em?'

He was half-hearted in his complaint, but Templeton did not seem to notice.