7.3 Assumed Command

At the Foreign Office, Fitzmaurice was at the Foreign Secretary’s calendar. On the other side of the desk, Tyrrell, reading the morning mail.  Suddenly, Tyrrell threw himself back into the chair and cried out, “Dear God!”

“Hmm?” asked Fitzmaurice. “Something for Sir Grey?”[image error]

Tyrrell flapped the letter from above his head and flapped it some more at Fitzmaurice.

“This was hand-delivered by Rowntree’s man: the Hungarian! ‘I will take the liberty of calling upon you tomorrow, Saturday, for letters...