ave to see the Railway Transport Officer
about my pass."

"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
from his coat-pocket; "those will take you back to France all
right, I think you'll find!"

Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.

The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:

"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"

"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.

"On special service, the same as you, sir!" said the man with a
grin and Desmond understood.

Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.

They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.

Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.

Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
that night.

As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.

"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"

Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face,
staining it with a dark, angry flus