Simon Allard was in his office.  Well, he called it his office; technically it was neither an ‘office‘, nor ’his’.  It was a pub.  The few  friends that he had, and those that he had professional interaction with (he often consulted with Scotland yard), knew  that A) Simon didn’t carry a phone, and B) Could usually be reached at The Olde Mitre Tavern, a pub dating from 1546.