"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
you shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualty
list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-
looking gentry want?"

The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.

"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
five years? Have you come to interview me?"

The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.

"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
friend we want..."

"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"

Strangwise smiled and shook his head.

"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."