“Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please.”

The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him.

“Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear.”

The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Van Aldin. There was charm in it⁠—there had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty-four, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it.

“Come in,” said Van Aldin curtly. “Sit down.”

Kettering flung himself lightly into an armchair. He looked at his father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement.