sedentary dyspeptic could show that kind of nerve, I wasn't going
to be behind him.

I went back to my flat about five o'clock. My man Paddock had
gone to the wars long ago, so I had shifted to one of the new
blocks in Park Lane where they provide food and service. I kept
the place on to have a home to go to when I got leave. It's a
miserable business holidaying in an hotel.

Sandy was devouring tea-cakes with the serious resolution of a
convalescent.

'Well, Dick, what's the news? Is it a brass hat or the boot?'

'Neither,' I said. 'But you and I are going to disappear from His
Majesty's forces. Seconded for special service.'

'O my sainted aunt!' said Sandy. 'What is it? For Heaven's sake
put me out of pain. Have we to tout deputations of suspicious
neutrals over munition works or take the shivering journalist in a
motor-car where he can imagine he sees a Boche?'

'The news will keep. But I can tell you this much. It's about as
safe and easy as to go through the German lines with a
walking-stick.'

'Come, that's not so dusty,' said Sandy, and began cheerfully
on the muffins.

I must spare a moment to introduce Sandy to the reader, for he