“I caught sight of him in Regent Street the other day,” said Allen. “He was with one of those Tailor-and-Cutter types—I thought they’d died with the war. Didn’t see me. And I saw something about him in one of those old newspapers I’ve been reading—to try to bring myself up to date. Snub gave evidence in a nasty murder case, apparently he had quite a time. Useful chap, in a tight corner.” He did not appear to be thinking of his own tight corner. “Well, what shall we do this afternoon?”

“Anything you like!”

Allen gave her a meaning grin.

“That’s dangerous, ducky, in my present sentimental mood! But let’s go out. Let’s——”

The telephone bell rang again.

His lips clamped together and he glanced towards the hall.

The first “ting” had brought everything back vividly, and Barbara had come to hate the telephone. Neither of them got up, and the bell kept ringing. Then they started to move together, and Barbara reached her feet first. But Allen said:

“No, I’ll go.”

He limped into the hall.

He had broken his leg when he had crashed on the flight which had nearly ended his life, and the natives who had rescued him had set the bone badly. There was some talk of having it broken and re-set, but he hadn’t shown much interest in that or in anything else, except—fear and the mellow-voiced man.

“Allen speaking,” he said harshly. There was an agonising pause; she did not move, felt numbed and stiff. Then he went on in a completely different voice in which there was a throb of excitement. “You want me to what?”

Barbara jumped up and rushed into the hall. He looked round at her, obviously excited, and mouthed the word: “Quiet.” She waited, close by his side, and he kept saying: “Yes, if you like,” over and over again. Then at last he said decidedly: “No, not to-morrow, I’m engaged all day to-morrow. I could manage this afternoon, if that’s any good . . . Right-ho! Where is it? . . . Aeolian Hall, New Bond Street, yes, I’ve got that, and I ask for . . . Mr Hedley . . . Right, thanks, good-bye!”