Corridors of Power by C.P. Snow

One morning in December, I received a report. It was brought by one of my acquaintances in Security. I was not allowed to see it, but I was used to their abracadabra. He gave me the name I wanted, and took the report away with him.

The name I wanted was that of Ellen's persecutor. When I heard it, I said: ‘Oh, yes? ' It sounded matter-of-fact, like the name of a new housekeeper. It sounded – as facts tend to sound, whenever you are mixed up in a secret investigation – as probable or improbable as anything else. Yet, when I was left alone, it seemed very odd. Nothing like what I should have expected. Odd, but not melodramatically odd. I hadn't been told, as in an old-fashioned thriller, the name of Hector Rose or the Prime Minister, or Roger himself. Dully odd. Within five minutes, I rang up Ellen telling her I wanted to see her before one o'clock.