“I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don’t know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked positively hunted!” 

 The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to alight. 

 “Au revoir,” she said to him, “never fear, you and I will meet very soon again!” 

 With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a quarter to six. 

 “Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,” he said aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi. 

 “At 7.45, sir,” said a voice. 

 “Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had spoken. 

 “7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I suppose?” 

 “Yes, sir,” said the taxi-man. 

 “By Jove, I haven’t much time,” ejaculated the officer “and there are some things I want to get before I go back across the Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my pass.” 

 “That’s all right, sir,” said the taxi-man, “I have your papers here”; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took from his coat-pocket; “those will take you back to France all right, I think you’ll find!” 

 Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date. 

 The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying: 

 “If you’ll get into the cab again, sir, I’ll drive you where you want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the station. By the way, your dinner’s ordered too!” 

 “But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in amazement. 

 “On special service, the same as you, sir!” said the man with a grin and Desmond understood. 

 Really, the Chief was extremely thorough. 

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