He reached London in the afternoon, and leaving his luggage in his flat walked down to the house in the quiet street behind the Strand whence Commodore Graham overlooked the Thames.
But even in this backwater the changes of the war were evident.

The brass plates had all gone from the door post and girls ran up and down the staircases in stockings which some Allied fairies had woven on Midsummer morning out of cobwebs of dew.

They were, however, as unaware as of old of any Commodore Graham.

Was he quite certain that he wanted to see Commodore Graham.

And why?
And, after all, was there a Commodore Graham?
Gracious damsels looked blandly at one another, with every apparent desire to assist this sunburnt stranger.