“I’ve no doubt you’re quite right,” I said, stifling a yawn.

“But how are we to get them to him? Our position in the matter is delicate⁠—very delicate.”

“What’s wrong with the post?” I said cheerfully. “Put a twopenny stamp on and drop ’em in the nearest letter-box.”

He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion.

“My dear Pedler! The common post!”

It has always been a mystery to me why governments employ Kings’ Messengers and draw such attention to their confidential documents.

“If you don’t like the post, send one of your young Foreign Office fellows. He’ll enjoy the trip.”

“Impossible,” said Milray, wagging his head in a senile fashion. “There are reasons, my dear Pedler⁠—I assure you there are reasons.”

“Well,” I said, rising, “all this is very interesting, but I must be off⁠—”

“One minute, my dear Pedler, one minute, I beg of you. Now tell me, in confidence, is it not true that you intend visiting South Africa shortly yourself? You have large interests in Rhodesia, I know, and the question of Rhodesia joining in the Union is one in which you have a vital interest.”

“Well, I had thought of going out in about a month’s time.”

“You couldn’t possibly make it sooner? This month? This week, in fact?”

“I could,” I said, eyeing him with some interest. “But I don’t know that I particularly want to.”

“You would be doing the government a great service⁠—a very great service. You would not find them⁠—er⁠—ungrateful.”

“Meaning, you want me to be the postman?”