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Windrush,” said the Chairman. “That will be all.”
    As soon as he had left there was a deep silence. The Chairman shook his head, expelling his breath.
    “I must point out we’re terribly short of Japanese specialists,” said the man who had asked the last question, hurriedly.
    The Chairman gave a very deep sigh.
    “We-e-ell …” he said at last, in profound distaste. 
    1 How is your father?
    2 He is very well, thank you.

CHAPTER 2
    “I MUST say,” said Stanley, “there were a couple of nasty moments. I thought once or twice I’d lost hope of getting through. It was like some dreadful panel game on the television, only awfully intellectual. But I think I shook them with my Japanese. I didn’t know much about America, but I ought to be OK for the Far Eastern department. I wonder if I’ll get posted to Japan?”
    “Well, you can’t very well stay here,” said his father. “I don’t suppose they’d approve, anyway, but the fact is I haven’t much room.”
    “No, I know,” said Stanley.
    His father was wearing a vest and shorts, for his thermometer was down to 56 , and was digging with a little forkin the cultivated vegetable patch on the south side of his hut.
    “They’ll expect you to live in London,” said his father, “and you won’t get fresh vegetables like here.”
    “I suppose not. Well, I’ll have to think about digs.”
    “ Digs? ”said his father. “What nonsense. Stay with your aunts.” He burrowed about in the ground and brought up some radishes for inspection. “Not bad,” he said. “Put those on the table inside for me, there’s a good fellow.”
    “But I haven’t got any aunts,” said Stanley, “except Aunty May who’s been put away.” This was a couplet from his childhood, but his father thought it in slightly bad taste.
    “I must write to her this week,” noted his father. “She usually enjoys my letters.”
    “But you don’t mean Aunty May, of course,” said Stanley. “Anyway, she’s in the—er—country.”
    “No, of course not. Your mother’ saunts,” said his father. “Pass me over that hoe, will you. Thank you.” He moved away, clearly of the opinion that all was explained.
    “But Father, look,” said Stanley, “I’ve never heard of them. Are they still alive?”
    “Good God, of course they are,” said Mr Windrush. “They’ve been living in Eaton Square since 1905 . Still alive! Go and see them. I used to see them occasionally before I married your mother. The younger one was a suffragette, I remember. I suppose she got a vote in the end. You care to make some tea?”
    “When did you last see them?”
    “ 1920 or ’ 21 ,” said his father. “Oh, they’d quite settled in. Said they didn’t think they’d move.”
    Stanley went in for the tea things.
    *
    When notification of his success came through, Stanley paid his four pounds for a Civil Service stamp at the post office and his certificate of qualification was filed by the Civil Service Commissioners (as is their practice) in one of their basements. A few days later his letter of appointment arrived, and having made no other arrangements,Stanley wrote to the London aunts, the Misses Dorothy and Mildred Tracepurcel, at their Eaton Square address.
    This letter brought no reply of any sort.
    “I felt all along they must be dead,” said Stanley.
    “Rubbish,” said his father. “Just because you don’t get an answer to a letter.”
    “I’ll book an hotel for a couple of days,” said Stanley.
    “That’s a very expensive thing to do,” objected his father. “Why don’t you call on ’em?”
    *
    When Stanley had booked in at his temporary hotel, he discovered that it was twenty-five past three. Anyone faced with this time in London goes out, and Stanley was by no means an exceptional person.
    Once out of the door he. began walking in the rough direction of Eaton Square, mildly curious about the fate of his mother’s aunts. It was fairly obvious that they must be