Makes it look a little fishy, doesn't it?
What I mean to say is, it's a far cry from fishing for whiting in the North Sea to lunching with a beautiful princess at the Carlton--when you think your wife's down in Norfolk." Sir Henry threw open the door.
"Look here, I've had enough of you, Rayton," he declared.

"You get back and do an hour's work, if you can bring your mind to it." The latter assumed a sudden dignity, necessitated by the sound of voices in the corridor, and departed.

The door had scarcely been closed when two younger men presented themselves--Miles Ensol, Sir Henry's secretary, a typical-looking young sailor minus his left arm; and a pale-faced, clean-shaven man of uncertain age, in civilian clothes.

Sir Henry shook hands with the latter and pointed to the easy-chair which his previous visitor had just vacated.
"Welcome back again, Horridge," he said cordially.

"Miles, I'll ring when I want you." "Very good, sir," the secretary replied.