"I haven't," he explained. "You have to be a millionaire, don't you, and a great political bug, before they'd let you in? No place for poor soldiers! Ihave to be content with the Rag."
"Poor devil!" his friend remarked sympathetically,--"best cooking, best wines in London. These Service men look after themselves all right. What are you doing here, anyhow, Granet?""I'm dining with my uncle," Granet replied, quickly.
"Sir Alfred's in there, waiting for you," his friend told him, indicating the door,--"he has been sitting at the window watching for you, in fact. So long!"The two men passed out and Granet was ushered into the smoking-room. Sir Alfred came back from his reverie and was greeted by his nephew cordially.
The two men sat by the window for a few moments in silence.
"An aperitif?" Sir Alfred suggested. "Capital!"They drank mixed vermouth. Sir Alfred picked up an evening paper from his side.
"Any news?" he asked.
"Nothing fresh," Granet replied. "The whole worlds excited about this submarine affair. Looks as though we'd got the measure of those Johnnies, doesn't it?""It does indeed," Sir Alfred agreed. "Two submarines, one after the other, two of the latest class, too, destroyed within a few miles and without a word of explanation. No wonder every one's excited about it!""They're fearfully bucked at the Admiralty, I believe," Granet remarked. "Of course, they'll pretend that they had this new dodge or whatever it may be, up their sleeves all the time."Sir Alfred nodded.
"Well," he said, "come in to dinner, young fellow. You shall entertain me with tales of your adventures whilst you compare our cuisine here with your own commissariat."They passed on into the strangers' dining-room, a small but cheerful apartment opening out of the general dining-room. The head-waiter ushered them unctuously to a small table set in the far corner of the room.
"I have obeyed your wishes, Sir Alfred," he announced, as they seated themselves. "No one else will be dining anywhere near you."Sir Alfred nodded.
"Knowing how modest you soldiers are in talking of your exploits," he remarked to Granet, "I have pleaded for seclusion. Here, in the intervals of our being served with dinner, you can spin me yarns of the Front. The whole thing fascinates me. I want to hear the story of your escape."They seated themselves, and Sir Alfred studied the menu for a moment through his eyeglass. After the service of the soup they were alone. He leaned a little across the table.
"Ronnie," he said, "I thought it was better to ask you here than to have you down at the city."Granet nodded.
"This seems all right," he admitted, glancing around. "Well, one part of the great work is finished. I have lived for eleven days not quite sure when Iwasn't going to be stood up with my back to the light at the Tower. Now it's over.""You've seen Pailleton?"
"Seen him, impressed him, given him the document. He has his plans all made.""Good! Very good!"
Sir Alfred ate soup for several moments as though it were the best soup on earth and nothing else was worth consideration. Then he laid down his spoon.
"Magnificent!" he said. "Now listen--these submarines. There was a Taube close at hand and I can tell you something which the Admiralty here are keeping dark, with their tongues in their cheeks. Both those submarines were sunk under water.""I guessed it," Granet replied coolly. "I not only guessed it but I came very near the key of the whole thing."A waiter appeared with the next course, followed by the wine steward, carrying champagne. Sir Alfred nodded approvingly.
