Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that the would be able
too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically ;nothing save
what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
yet."
She pulled a chair over for him arid began to talk about the
Chief.
"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
your orders in due course. So shall I.
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