preposterous in our work, Okewood,” he replied. “But it’s 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting.” 

 “I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?” asked Desmond. 

 “I put him off until six o’clock,” replied the Chief, “he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers about this affair. You’re off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You know where she’s staying? Good. Well, I’ll say good-bye, Okewood. I shan’t see you again...” 

 “You won’t see me again? How do you mean, sir?” 

 “Because you’re going back to France!” 

 “Going back to France? When?” 

 “By the leave-boat to-night!” 

 Desmond smiled resignedly. 

 “My dear Chief,” he said, “you must be more explicit. What am I going back to France for?” 

 “Why, now I come to think of it,” replied the Chief, “I never told you. You’re going back to France to be killed, of course!” 

 “To be killed!” 

 Desmond looked blankly at the other’s blandly smiling face. 

 “Two or three days from now,” said the Chief, “you will be killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we’ll have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer; it’s all the same to me!” 

 He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond’s eyes. 

 “I see,” said Desmond. 

 “I hope you don’t mind,” the Chief went on more seriously, “but I know you have no people to consider except your brother and his wife. She’s in America, and Francis can’t possibly hear about it. So you needn’t worry on that score. Or do you?” 

 Desmond laughed. 

 “No-o-o!” he said slowly, “but I’m rather young to die. Is it absolutely necessary for me to disappear?” 

 “Absolutely!” responded the Chief firmly. 

 Prev. P 45/226 next