As I unlocked the double doors of the garage, a man came down a ladder
outside the place leading to the upper room.

"Did it work all right, sir?" he asked.

"Is that Carter?" I said.

"Sure that's me," came the cheery response. "Stand by now and we'll run
her in. Then I'll show you where you are to sleep!"

We stowed the car away and he took me upstairs to his quarters, a bright
little room with electric light, a table with a red cloth, a cheerful
open fire and two beds. The walls were ornamented with pictures cut from
the American Sunday supplements, mostly feminine and horsy studies.

"It's a bit rough, mister," said Carter, "but it's the best I can do.
Gee! but you look that dawg-gorn tired I guess you could sleep
anywheres!"

He was a friendly fellow, pleasant-looking in an ugly way, with a button
nose and honest eyes.

"Say, but I like to think of the way we fooled them Deutschers," he
chuckled. He kept on chuckling to himself whilst I took off my boots and
began to undress.

"That there is your bed," he said, pointing; "the footman used to sleep
there but they grabbed him for the army. There's a pair of Mr. Gerry's
pyjamas for you and you'll find a cup of cocoa down warming by the fire.
It's all a bit rough, but it's the best we can do. I guess you want to