CHAPTER EIGHT
THE COMING OF THE BLACK STONE
I came down to breakfast next morning, after eight hours of blessed dreamless sleep, to find Sir Walter decoding a telegram in the midst of muffins and marmalade. His fresh rosiness of yesterday seemed a thought tarnished.
‘I had a busy hour on the telephone after you went to bed,’ he said. ‘I got my Chief to speak to the First Lord and the Secretary for War, and they are bringing Royer over a day sooner. This wire clinches it. He will be in London at five. Odd that the code word for a Sous-chef d’état Major-General should be “Porker”.’
He directed me to the hot dishes and went on.
‘Not that I think it will do much good. If your friends were clever enough to find out the first arrangement they are clever enough to discover the change. I woul
