"I will look out for Feversham.

I remember he was a great friend of yours." He stretched out his hand towards the matches upon the table beside him.
Durrance heard the scrape of the phosphorus and the flare of the match.
Willoughby was lighting his pipe.

It was a well-seasoned piece of briar, and needed a cleaning; it bubbled as he held the match to the tobacco and sucked at the mouthpiece.
"Yes, a great friend," said Durrance.

"You and I dined with him in his flat high up above St.James's Park just before we left England." And at that chance utterance Willoughby's briar pipe ceased suddenly to bubble.

A moment's silence followed, then Willoughby swore violently, and a second later he stamped upon the carpet.