“Well, come along and have a drink, and then I’ll put you in a cab and send you home. I’m engaged for lunch, but I’ve plenty of time.”

We drifted to one of the eleven cafés which jostled each other along the street and I ordered restoratives.

“What on earth are you doing in Paris?” I asked.

“Bertie, old man,” said Biffy, solemnly, “I came here to try and forget.”

“Well, you’ve certainly succeeded.”

“You don’t understand. The fact is, Bertie, old lad, my heart is broken. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“No, I say!” I protested. But he was off.

“Last year,” said Biffy, “I buzzed over to Canada to do a bit of salmon fishing.”

I ordered another. If this was going to be a fish-story, I needed stimulants.