es outspread from
the topmost mountain peaks to the softly lapping tide at the black edges
of the loch. Yet as I sit adding the last words to this plain account of
a curious episode in my life, the wintry scene dissolves before my eyes,
and I see again that dawn in the forest ... Francis and Monica, sleeping
side by side, like the babes in the wood, half covered with leaves, the
eager, panting retriever, and myself, poor, ragged scarecrow, staring
openmouthed at the Dutchman whose kindly enquiry has just revealed to me
the wondrous truth ... that we are safe across the frontier.

What a disproportionate view one takes of events in which one is the
principal actor! The great issues vanish away, the little things loom
out large. When I look back on that morning I encounter in my memory no
recollection of extravagant demonstrations of joy at our delivery, no
hysteria, no heroics. But I find a fragrant remembrance of a glorious
hot bath and an epic breakfast in the house of that kindly Dutchman,
followed by a whirlwind burst of hospitality on our arrival at the house
of van Urutius, which was not more than ten miles from the fringe of the
forest.

Madame van Urutius took charge of Monica, who was promptly sent to bed,
whilst Francis and I went straight on to Rotterdam, where we had an
interview at the British Consulate, with the result that we were able to
catch the steamer for England the next day.

As the result of various telegrams which Francis dispatched from
Rotterdam, a car was waiting for us on our arrival at Fenchurch Street
the next evening. In it we drove off for an interview with my brother's
Chief. Francis insisted that I should hand over personally the portion
of the document in our possession.

"You got hold of it, Des," he said, "and it's only fair that you should
get all the credit. I have Clubfoot's dispatch-box to show as the result
of my trip. It's only a pity we could not have got the other half out of
the cloak-room at Rotterdam."

We were shown straight in to the Chief. I was rather taken aback by the
easy calm of his manner in receiving us.

"How are you, Okewood?" he said, nodding to Francis. "This your brother?
How d'ye do?"

He gave me his hand and was silent. There was a distinct pause. Feeling
distinctly embarrassed, I lugged out my portfolio, extracted the three
slips of paper and laid them on the desk before the Chief.

"I've brought you something," I said lamely.

He picked up the