"There's a fisherman from Norfolk downstairs, when you're at liberty." Sir Henry nodded.
"I'll see him presently.

Shut him up somewhere where he can smoke." The young man withdrew, carefully closing the door, around which Sir Henry, with a word of apology, arranged a screen.
"I don't think," he explained, "that eavesdropping extends to these premises, or that our voices could reach outside.

Still, a ha'porth of prevention, eh?
Have a cigar, Horridge." "I'm not smoking for a day or two, thank you, sir." "You look as though they'd put you through it," Sir Henry remarked.
His visitor smiled.
"I've travelled fourteen miles in a barrel," he said, "and we were out for twenty-four hours in a Danish sailing skiff.

You know what the weather's been like in the North Sea.

Before that, the last word of writing I saw on German soil was a placard, offering a reward of five thousand marks for my detention, with a disgustingly lifelike photograph at the top.