When I entered that quiet thoroughfare it seemed deserted. Sir Walter’s house was in the narrow part, and outside it three or four motorcars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and walked briskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission, or if he even delayed to open the door, I was done.

He didn’t delay. I had scarcely rung before the door opened.

“I must see Sir Walter,” I panted. “My business is desperately important.”

That butler was a great man. Without moving a muscle he held the door open, and then shut it behind me. “Sir Walter is engaged, sir, and I have orders to admit no one. Perhaps you will wait.”

The house was of the old-fashioned kind, with a wide hall and rooms on both sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a telephone and a couple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat.

“See here,” I whispered. “There’s trouble about and I’m in it. But Sir Walter knows, and I’m working for him. If anyone comes and asks if I am here, tell him a lie.”

He nodded, and presently there was a noise of voices in the street, and a furious ringing at the bell. I never admired a man more than that butler. He opened the door, and with a face like a graven image waited to be questioned. Then he gave them it. He told them whose house it was, and what his orders were, and simply froze them off the doorstep. I could see it all from my alcove, and it was better than any play.

I hadn’t waited long till there came another ring at the bell. The butler made no bones about admitting this new visitor.

While he was taking off his coat I saw who it was. You couldn’t open a newspaper or a magazine without seeing that face⁠—the grey beard cut like a spade, the firm fighting mouth, the blunt square nose, and the keen blue eyes. I recognized the First Sea Lord, the man, they say, that made the new British Navy.