re they were some kind of
brown.'

'This man's are a greenish grey. Can you recollect anything peculiar
about Lieutenant Sarratt's hands?'

Again Bridget paused for a second or two, and then said--'I can't
remember anything at all peculiar about them.'

The surgeon looked at her closely, and was struck with the wooden
irresponsiveness of the face, which was however rather handsome, he
thought, than otherwise. No doubt, she was anxious to speak
deliberately, when so much might depend on her evidence and her opinion.
But he had never seen any countenance more difficult to read.

'Perhaps you're not a close observer of such things?'

'No, I don't think I am.'

'H'm--that's rather a pity. A great deal may turn on them, in this
case.'

Then the face before him woke up a little.

'But I am quite sure I should know my brother-in-law again, under any
circumstances,' said Bridget, with emphasis.

'Ah, don't be so sure! Privation and illness change people terribly. And
this poor fellow has _suffered_!'--he shrugged his shoulders
expressively. 'Well, you will see him to-morrow. There is of course no
external evidence to help us whatever. The unlucky accident that the
Englishman's companion--who was clearly a Belgian peasant, disguised--of
that there is no doubt--was shot through the lungs at the very moment
that the two men reached the British line, has wiped out all possible
means of identification--unless, of course, the man himself can be
recognised by someone who knew him. We have had at least a dozen
parties--relations of "missing" men--much more recent cases--over here
already--to no purpose. There is really no clue, unless'--the speaker
rose with a tired smile--'unless you can supply one, when you see him.
But I am sorry about the fingers. That has always seemed to me a
possible clue. To-morrow then, at eleven?'

Bridget interrupted.

'It is surely most unlikely that my brother-in-law could have survived
all this time? If he had been a prisoner, we should have heard of him,
long ago. Where could he have been?'

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

'There have been a few cases, you know--of escaped prisoners--evading
capture for a long time--and finally crossing the line. But of course it
_is_ very unlikely--most unlikely. Well, to-morrow?' He bowed and
departed.

Bridget made her way to her small carpetless room, and sat for long with
a shawl round her at the open window. She could imagine the farm in t