t, and of getting the
whole story which Sir Walter hungered for. After that, I thought it
wouldn't be hard to get away by Rumania, and to get home through
Russia. I had hoped to be back with my battalion in February, having
done as good a bit of work as anybody in the war. As it was, it looked
as if my information would die with me, unless I could find Blenkiron
before the evening.

I talked the thing over with Peter, and he agreed that we were fairly
up against it. We decided to go to Kuprasso's that afternoon, and to
trust to luck for the rest. It wouldn't do to wander about the
streets, so we sat tight in our room all morning, and swopped old
hunting yarns to keep our minds from the beastly present. We got some
food at midday--cold mutton and the same cheese, and finished our
whisky. Then I paid the bill, for I didn't dare to stay there another
night. About half-past three we went into the street, without the
foggiest notion where we would find our next quarters.

It was snowing heavily, which was a piece of luck for us. Poor old
Peter had no greatcoat, so we went into a Jew's shop and bought a
ready-made abomination, which looked as if it might have been meant for
a dissenting parson. It was no good saving my money when the future
was so black. The snow made the streets deserted, and we turned down
the long lane which led to Ratchik ferry, and found it perfectly quiet.
I do not think we met a soul till we got to Kuprasso's shop.

We walked straight through the cafe, which was empty, and down the dark
passage, till we were stopped by the garden door. I knocked and it
swung open. There was the bleak yard, now puddled with snow, and a
blaze of light from the pavilion at the other end. There was a scraping
of fiddles, too, and the sound of human talk. We paid the negro at the
door, and passed from the bitter afternoon into a garish saloon.

There were forty or fifty people there, drinking coffee and sirops and
filling the air with the fumes of latakia. Most of them were Turks in
European clothes and the fez, but there were some German officers and
what looked like German civilians--Army Service Corps clerks, probably,
and mechanics from the Arsenal. A woman in cheap finery was tinkling
at the piano, and there were several shrill females with the officers.
Peter and I sat down modestly in the nearest corner, where old Kuprasso
saw us and sent us coffee. A girl who looked like a Jewess came over to
us a