lutched one of those short, stumpy whips which are used by
the lead driver of a gun. I can see that poor chap in my mind thrashing
and urging his team of horses into a gallop, for it was not reckoned
wise to meander about the streets of Ypres, and then--one blinding
crash.

"I swung round with a great desire to get away from the appalling scene,
and as I did so, I noticed a girl in a doorway struggling in the grip of
a powerful, swarthy-faced man of middle age. In the fading light I
caught a glimpse of her face, and I was out of the shadow and by her
side like a sky-rocket.

"'Let her go!' I said shortly. 'Before I mop out the gutter with you.'

"The man turned on me.

"'Who the devil----'

"'That's enough!'

"A Red Cap--a corporal in the Military Police--loomed into view, and
with an imprecation the rough backed away from the girl, turned, and in
a moment was lost in the gloom. I brought my eyes back to the girl who
had confronted me in the red light of sunset, and I stood gazing at her
dumbly, fascinated, but with never a word to say. She was burning with
anger and shame, trembling like an aspen, too.

"_It was Margot!_

"The girl glanced up at me, a look that set my heart throbbing. It was
my first real sight of her since I had seen her that afternoon with
Ombos. I had thought her pretty then, but there is a distinct gap
between a pretty woman and a lovely woman, and she was as beautiful as a
Greek marble. Indeed, but for the carmine of her lips, and long dark
eyelashes, she might have been chiselled out of pellucid stone, for her
skin was dead white. She was--or had been--beautifully and expensively
dressed, and there was breeding and refinement in every line of her
face.

"'Don't you know me?' I said.

"The girl looked at me intently.

"'I know you, of course,' she said.

"I won't waste time in trying to tell you what my thoughts and
sensations were. Rather I will tell you instead, what I did.

"It was some minutes later, and already we had started to walk slowly
back in the direction of the Rue Bar-le-Duc.

"'And now you want to know--' she said.

"'Yes--that's it--what's become of Ombos ... and the bronze statue?'

"Margot looked up at me, and a strange melancholy transformed her
face.... She was at a loss for words.... 'Poor Ombos--oh, poor, cranky
Ombos,' she muttered. 'One morning I found him dead in his room, with
all his wonderful, brown, powdery-looking books. He was leaning on a
table