The two men who were now leaving the room looked just as he’d expected from the sleeve and the motor—perfectly ordinary.One of them looked back over his shoulder at him diffidently, as if he was faintly embarrassed by the whole affair.
“He shouldn’t be long,” he said, in the sort of tone secretaries in government offices used.
“Oh, good,” said Crispin, because it seemed the right thing to say.
The man gave him a final blank glance and shut the door.
The key turned in the lock.
Crispin went quickly to the window.It wasn’t locked.He opened it and leaned out to get his bearings.It looked onto a blind alley.The sun—weak as usual in the London sky—was on his left.He scanned the environs thoroughly.He couldn’t see anyone, and the building across appeared by its broken windows to be abandoned.But Crispin had grown up in this city, and he knew that even the most derelict building in it harboured life.
“Oy!”he shouted, and a dustbin below seethed until a dirty face looked up at him from it.
Crispin pulled out his pocket notebook and quickly scribbled a note with a nub of pencil he always kept in his breast pocket, wrapped the note round a coin, and tossed it down.
The boy scrambled for it, looked up at him, tipped his hat, and ran off.
Crispin heard footsteps outside the door.It wasn’t the same fellow that had been here before—these steps had a little squeak to them.Crispin quickly pulled down the sash, in case they hadn’t known it was open, and turned round to face his abductors.
The door opened and the Home Secretary appeared in a pair of extremely shiny shoes.
“Sir!”Crispin exclaimed.“I say—if I’d thought you really wanted to see me—“
“Oh, do shut up, Fairweather, and take a seat.Here’s your pipe back.”
Crispin took his pipe and sat down.The Secretary sat opposite him.
“Did you ever try to get into the forces, Fairweather?”
“No, sir.”Crispin waited.This was a lot of trouble to ask such a simple question.Clearly, something more was coming.
“Well, then,” the man said.“I want you to tell me three ways you could get out of this.”
Crispin cleared his throat.“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Crispin thought rapidly.For some reason, he was being tested.And Crispin was rather good at tests.They brought out his competitive streak.It was this that distracted his mind from the uncomfortable nature of his present situation.
“Well, the window is open,” he noted.“I could jump down.I’d probably break a leg or two, but it might raise a bit of a rumpus.”
“Next.”
“Well, I could find out what you want and give it to you.”He paused, then asked almost wistfully, “I don’t suppose you’re in need of a map?”
The Home Secretary snorted.
“No,” Crispin said with a faint smile.“Well, there’s always fisticuffs.”
“Yes, you box, don’t you?”A glint in his eye at this.Crispin registered it—the Home Secretary had been doing research on him?Then the man waved his hand to dismiss the idea.“Assume I can overpower you.Got anything else?”
Crispin shrugged and shuffled his feet, straining his ears for noises from the street.
“Not really.Except for…them.”He motioned with his head.
The secretary looked at Crispin sharply.
“Whom?”
