“Yes, are you?”
“Yes. By the way, it’s in the evening papers. But tucked away in a corner. Funny—I should have thought they’d have made rather a splash about it.”
“Yes—so should I.”
“Well,” said Jimmy, “I must be getting on with my task. I’ve just got to where Bolivia sent us a Note.”
“I suppose I must get on with my little lot,” said Bundle. “Are you going to swot at it all the evening?”
“I think so. Are you?”
“Oh, probably. Goodnight.”
They were both liars of the most unblushing order. Jimmy Thesiger knew perfectly well that he was taking Loraine Wade out to dinner.
As for Bundle, no sooner had she rung off than she attired herself in various nondescript garments belonging, as a matter of fact, to her maid. And having donned them she sallied out on foot deliberating whether bus or tube would be the best route by which to reach the Seven Dials Club.