The blind is flapping at the window again. I don't care what anyone says, there really has to be a draught somewhere. I suppose I might get up and try to fix it. But, no, that's absurd, what on earth could I do? Besides, Ryder will be ringing the doorbell any minute now, or so I hope. He's late already. Slightly as yet, but late all the same. I can't abide unpunctuality. What was it someone said? That the trouble with puntuality is that there's never anyone there to appreciate it. Well, I would have been here to appreciate it! Though, to be fair, if he has motored down from London, it's possible -- 'Aha, there he is now' --the weekend traffic has been heavy.

So, Mr Ryder. There you are and here I am. We shall see what we shall see.

'Who is it?'

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