igold wheeled my chair out of the room and down the passage to the
hall, where he fitted me with greatcoat and hat. Then, having trundled
me to the front gate, he picked me up--luckily I have always been a
small spare man--and deposited me in the car. I am always nervous of
anyone but Marigold trying to carry me. They seem to stagger and fumble
and bungle. Marigold's arms close round me like an iron clamp and they
lift me with the mechanical certainty of a crane.

He jumped up beside the chauffeur and we drove off.

Perhaps when I get on a little further I may acquire the trick of
telling a story. At present I am baffled by the many things that
clamour for prior record. Before bringing Sir Anthony on the scene, I
feel I ought to say something more about myself, to explain why Lady
Fenimore should have sent for me in so peremptory a fashion. Following
the model of my favourite author Balzac--you need the awful leisure
that has been mine to appreciate him--I ought to describe the house in
which I live, my establishment--well, I have begun with Sergeant
Marigold--and the little country town which is practically the scene of
the drama in which were involved so many bound to me by close ties of
friendship and affection.

I ought to explain how I come to be writing this at all.

Well, to fill in my time, I first started by a diary--a sort of War
Diary of Wellingsford, the little country town in question. Then things
happened with which my diary was inadequate to cope. Everyone came and
told me his or her side of the story. All through, I found thrust upon
me the parts of father-confessor, intermediary, judge, advocate, and
conspirator.... For look you, what kind of a life can a man lead
situated as I am? The crowning glory of my days, my wife, is dead. I
have neither chick nor child. No brothers or sisters, dead or alive.
The Bon Dieu and Sergeant Marigold (the latter assisted by his wife and
a maid or two) look after my creature comforts. What have I in the
world to do that is worth doing save concern myself with my country and
my friends?

With regard to my country, in these days of war, I do what I can. Until
finally flattened out by the War Office, I pestered them for such
employment as a cripple might undertake. As an instance of what a
paralytic was capable I quoted Couthon, member of the National
Convention and the Committee of Public Safety. You can see his chair,
not very unlike mine, in the Musee Carnavalet in