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Derek strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment. The tone of the demands was still polite. Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change if—if certain news became public property.
He flung himself moodily into a large, leather-covered chair. A damned hole—that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole! And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising.
Pavett appeared with a discreet cough.
‘A gentleman to see you—sir—Major Knighton.’
‘Knighton, eh?’
Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself: ‘Knighton—I wonder what is in the wind now?’
‘Shall I—er—show him in, sir?’
His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him.
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