who received it with
reluctance, read it with suspicion, and disappeared with a grunt.
What he did with it is not known; probably someone got into
communication with the B.E.F. to know if such a person as Hubert
existed, and, if so, why? Meanwhile Hubert had good time to
realise that no one loved him and that this was cold brutal war at
last.

Bit by bit the porter drifted back and gave Hubert his form, now
stamped and become his ticket. The porter having finished with
him, he passed on and, after many wanderings, found the door of
the room where his sentence would be passed. Bracing himself
up and clearing his throat, he prepared to knock and enter.
Fortunately, however, his audacious intention was observed by an
official and frustrated. He was commanded to write something more
about himself in the book provided for that purpose, and to go on
waiting. Being now an expert at writing and waiting he did as he
was bid, spending the next few hours of his life remodelling his
case in less fierce and glowing terms.

At last the door of the room persuaded itself to open and let out
a real red god, who looked upon Hubert, took an instant dislike
to him, relieved him of his ticket and went in again. During
the ensuing period of suspense the last vestige of Hubert's
personality departed from him.

Again the door opened and another red one, even more godlike,
emerged clamouring for Hubert and his blood. Had he still been in
possession of his ticket (a necessary passport for egress) Hubert
would have fled. There was nothing for it but to confess his
identity and to hope for mercy. The god, who clearly had not more
than three and a half seconds to spare, demanded an explanation of
his presence. Hubert admitted that once, in a moment of impudent
folly, he had thought of asking for a day's extension. The god
said nothing, but a light smouldered in his eyes which intimated
to Hubert that if he did not at once produce some paramount excuse
for so monstrous a request the War would be held up and the
military machine would be concentrated on punishing Hubert.
His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth; even if it had been
available it would have helped little, for it is more than mere
words that the gods require. His hand searched in his pockets and
produced the return half of his leav