'It's him all right.' He looked up and Bill Tanner nodded in agreement. M turned to the Duty Officer. 'And the number?' he asked. The telephone equipment at the Regent's Park building was the most sophisticated in the country. Not only were all incoming calls monitored and taped, but a selective printout was immediately available. The print-out included both the words spoken and the number from which the call had been dialled. The Duty Officer shifted in his chair. 'It's French. We're sure of that because of the code.' He was a young man, in his first year of duty following the four-year training period. He sighed. 'As to its origin . . . well . . .' 'Well?' M's eyes flashed angrily. 'You know what it's like, sir. They're co-operating, of course, but at this time of night . . .' 'I know,' Bill Tanner cut in. 'It is tricky, sir. But I'll go off, with your permission, and try to ginger them up.' 'You do that, Tanner.' M's grey eyes showed no emotion. 'At least we're certain it was France?' The Duty Officer nodded.
