who kept the keys
in the entrance hall, a black place, lit by an oil lamp which hung
over the stone fireplace. I put off painting her and her hall then for
some reason, and later she was killed by a shell at the door during
the bombardment. Here in the belfry the deserters were put, in an
endeavour to make them say who they were, and Maude asked me to go
this day because he had an interesting case.

A young man in a captain's tunic had been found in a brothel, and his
papers were very incomplete. He had no leave warrant. They found he
had been living at the "Hotel de la Paix" for about a week. He had
come to Amiens on a motor-bicycle, which he left in the street. They
telephoned to the "Captain's" regiment and found the "Captain" was
with his unit, but a tunic had been stolen from him at Calais. They (p. 047)
also found a motor-bicycle had been stolen from Calais, and that it
corresponded in number with the one found in the street.

[Illustration: XVIII. _The Great Mine. La Boisselle._]

We were given a candle, and climbed the black stairs to his cell. The
youth was in a bad state, sobbing. Maude told him how sorry he was for
him, and asked him not to be a fool, but to tell him the truth, and he
would have him out of that place at once. He agreed, and told a long
story, or rather--another long story. This was his third day and his
third story, and it turned out there was not a word of truth in this
one either.

He was one of the best-looking young men I ever saw, tall, clean-cut
and smart-looking. The next day Maude found out that most of his tears
were due to the fact that he was very badly diseased, and of course,
without any treatment, was getting worse daily. Maude could not stand
this, so he sent him to the hospital for treatment, from which the
youth promptly escaped, and was not found again for ten days. They
knew some one must have been hiding him, probably a woman; which
proved right. In ten days he was found, plus forty pounds, which the
lady had given him.

Maude gave him one more twenty-four hours' chance in the belfry; but
it was no good, only more lies. So he was sent to Le Havre, where I
believe no deserter has ever lasted more than forty-eight hours
without telling the truth and nothing but the truth. I presumed that
after that he was shot. The only thing I learnt for certain, was that
he was a Colonial private. Some time later I used to go very often to
a little restaurant in Paris, and became f