"Not yet."

"Then you're too late! He's suffering from bad food and exposure. The
air of Jerusalem's bad for him, and he's liable to get pugnacious if
argued with. That runs in the blood. I order him off duty, and shall
recommend him within twenty minutes to the P.M.O. for leave of absence
at his own expense. If you know of any general who dares override the
P.M.O. I'll show you a brass hat in the wind. Come on; d'you want to
bet on it?"

"Will the P.M.O. fall?" asked Grim.

"Like a new chum off a brumby. Signs anything I shove under his nose.
Comes round to our house to eat Mabel's damper and syrup three nights a
week. You bet he'll sign it: Besides, he's white; pulled out of the
firing-line by an Australian at Gaza, and hasn't forgotten it. He'd
sign anything but checks to help an Anzac. I'll be going.

"You trot up to the slaughter-shop, Grim, and interview that Arab--Sidi
bin Something-or-Other--forget his name--he lies in number nineteen cot
on the left-hand side of the long ward, next to a Pathan who's shy both
legs. You can't mistake him. I'll write out a medical certificate for
Jeremy and follow. And say; wait a minute! What price the lot of you
eating Mabel's chow tonight at our house? We don't keep a cook, so you
won't get poisoned. That's settled; I'll tell Mabel you're coming.
Tootleloo!"

But there was a chance that the brigadier might carry resentment to the
point of sending up a provost-marshal's guard to arrest Jeremy on the