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Updated: June 16, 2025
I had to humour those old ladies down at Whitehall who wanted me to pose as a particularly harmless idiot. You see," he went on, glancing towards Lessingham, "they were always afraid that my steps might be dogged by spies, if my position were generally known." Philippa did not relinquish her attitude. She was still clinging to her husband. She refused to let him go.
The two men stood together for a moment or two at the sideboard, helping themselves to whisky and soda. Griffiths had become more taciturn than ever, and even Philippa was forced to admit that the latter part of the evening had scarcely been a success. "Do you play club bridge in town, Mr. Lessingham?" Griffiths asked. "Never," was the calm reply.
And I wish to warn you, too, Maderstrom, that you will have very little time. For some reason or other, Cranston is dissatisfied with the secrecy under which he has been compelled to work, and has applied to the Admiralty for recognition of his position. Immediately this is given, I gather that his house will be inaccessible to you." Lessingham sat, his arms folded, his eyes fixed upon the fire.
Our secret service, I fancy, will very soon be able to dispense with your energies." "And I with your secret service," Lessingham agreed heartily. "I dare say there may be some branches of it in which existence is tolerable. That, however, does not apply to the task upon which I have been engaged."
But if, in that matter, my abnormally strained imagination played me a trick, there could be no doubt whatever as to the effect which the words had on Mr Lessingham.
"They most of them spotted the guns," his companion continued, "but not many of them have found the searchlights yet." "It seems a little late in the year," Lessingham observed, "to be making preparations against Zeppelins." "Well, they cross here pretty often, you know," Griffiths reminded him. "It's only a matter of a few weeks ago that one almost came to grief on this common.
Of course, you shall see what I write." Cecily turned away, and stood in struggle with herself. She had not foreseen a conflict of this kind. Surprise, and probably vexation, she was prepared for; irony, argument, she was quite ready to face; but it had not entered her mind that Mrs. Lessingham would invoke authority to oppose her.
"I suppose," she confessed, "I am the narrowest person on earth. I can think of one thing, and one thing only. If Mr. Lessingham keeps his word, Dick will be here perhaps in a month, perhaps six weeks certainly soon!" "He will keep his word," Philippa said quietly. "He is that sort of man." The door on the other side of the room was softly opened. Lessingham's head appeared.
Was there ever a man so less than nothing? With the recollection fresh upon me of Mr Lessingham as I had so lately seen him I could not but feel that there might be a modicum of truth in what, with such an intensity of bitterness, the speaker suggested. The picture which, in my mental gallery, I had hung in the place of honour, seemed, to say the least, to have become a trifle smudged.
To his own family Henry Galleon had, of course, been real enough but to the outside world he was the author of "Henry Lessingham" and "The Roads," whose face one saw in the papers as one saw the face of Royalty. Peter Westcott, moreover, had not appeared, at any time, to take more than a general interest in the great man, and it was even understood that old Mrs.
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