. "Ten to one it's
there still. You'll have to take the taxi and go back for it, Tommy:
I can't leave the luggage, and I may be wanted to show our papers,
besides; but you won't have any difficulty. Come along, and I'll see
that the policeman lets you through when you come back."

The constable was sympathetic. He examined Cecilia's passport, declared
that he would know her anywhere again, and that she had no cause for
anxiety.

"Is it time? Sure, ye'll be tired of waitin' on the ould pier hours
afther ye get back," he said cheerfully. "I know thim transports. Why,
there's not one of the throops marched in yet. There comes the furrst
lot."

A band swung round the turn of the street playing a quickstep: behind
it, a long line of Australian soldiers, marching at ease, each man with
his pack on his shoulder. A gate with a military sentry swung wide to
admit them, and they passed on to where a high overhead bridge carried
them aboard a great liner moored to the pier.

"'Tis the soldiers have betther treatment than the officers whin it
comes to boardin' transports," said the friendly policeman. "They get
marched straight on board. The officers and their belongin's has to wait
till they've gone through hivin knows what formalities. So you needn't
worry, miss, an' take your time. The ould ship'll be there hours yet."

The taxi driver appeared only too glad of further employment, and
Cecilia, much cheered, though still considerably ashamed of herself,
leaned back comfortably in the cab as they whisked through the streets.
At the hotel good fortune awaited her, for a chambermaid had just found
her watch and had brought it to the office for safe keeping. Cecilia
left her thanks, with something more substantial, for the girl, and
hurried back to the cab.

The streets seemed more thronged than ever, and presently traffic was
blocked by a line of marching men--more "diggers" on their way to the
transport. Cecilia's chauffeur turned back into a side street, evidently
a short cut. Half-way along it the taxi jarred once or twice and came to
a standstill.

The chauffeur got out and poked his head into the bonnet, performing
mysterious rites, while Cecilia watched him, a little anxiously.
Presently he came round to the door.

"I'm awful sorry, miss," he said respectfully. "The old bus has broke
down. I'm afraid I can't get another move out of 'er--I'll 'ave to get
'er towed to a garage."

"Oh!" said Cecilia, jumping out. "Do