it and catching it in my lips. That wants a pretty steady heart.

 

He watched me with a smile. “I don’t want proofs. I may be an ass on the

platform, but I can size up a man. You’re no murderer and you’re no fool, and I

believe you are speaking the truth. I’m going to back you up. Now, what can I

do?”

 

“First, I want you to write a letter to your uncle. I’ve got to get in touch

with the Government people sometime before the 15th of June.”

 

He pulled his moustache. “That won’t help you. This is Foreign Office business,

and my uncle would have nothing to do with it. Besides, you’d never convince

him. No, I’ll go one better. I’ll write to the Permanent Secretary at the

Foreign Office. He’s my godfather, and one of the best going. What do you want?”

 

He sat down at a table and wrote to my dictation. The gist of it was that if a

man called Twisdon (I thought I had better stick to that name) turned up before

June 15th he was to entreat him kindly. He said Twisdon would prove his _bona

fides_ by passing the word “Black Stone” and whistling “Annie Laurie”.

 

“Good,” said Sir Harry. “That’s the proper style. By the way, you’ll find my

godfather—his name’s Sir Walter Bullivant—down at his country cottage for

Whitsuntide. It’s close to Artinswell on the Kennet. That’s done. Now, what’s

the next thing?”