Lord Mayfield chuckled.
“I can put one over on you there, George. I read easily without glasses.”
“But you can’t always distinguish the fellow on the other side of the House. Or is that eyeglass of yours sheer intimidation?”
Laughing, the two men entered Lord Mayfield’s study, the french window of which was open.
Mr. Carlile was busy arranging some papers in a file by the safe.
He looked up as they entered.
“Ha, Carlile, everything ready?”
“Yes, Lord Mayfield, all the papers are on your desk.”
The desk in question was a big important-looking writing table of mahogany set across a corner by the window. Lord Mayfield went over to it, and began sorting through the various documents laid out.
“Lovely night now,” said Sir George.
Mr. Carlile agreed.
“Yes, indeed. Remarkable the way it’s cleared up after the rain.”
Putting away his file, Mr. Carlile asked:
“Will you want me any more tonight, Lord Mayfield?”
“No, I don’t think so, Carlile. I’ll put all these away myself. We shall probably be late. You’d better turn in.”
“Thank you. Goodnight, Lord Mayfield. Goodnight, Sir George.”
“Goodnight, Carlile.”
As the secretary was about to leave the room, Lord Mayfield said sharply:
“Just a minute, Carlile. You’ve forgotten the most important of the lot.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Mayfield.”
“The actual plans of the bomber, man.”
The secretary stared.
“They’re right on the top, sir.”
“They’re nothing of the sort.”
“But I’ve just put them there.”
“Look for yourself, man.”
With a bewildered expression, the young man came forward and joined Lord Mayfield at the desk.
Somewhat impatiently the Minister indicated the pile of papers. Carlile sorted through them, his expression of bewilderment growing.
“You see, they’re not there.”
The secretary stammered: