The leader of the slaves led Bill to a divan and bowed profoundly.
"Thank you, my dear," said Bill. "This'll do me a treat. Now, if you'll just take yer friends away and wait outside, I'll be with yer in 'arf a tick."
But the lady seemed neither to understand him nor to have any intention of going. She signed to two of her following, who came forward and unlaced Grant's boots. She herself began daintily to unbutton his tunic.
This was too much for the scandalized Bill.
"'Ere," he said, leaping suddenly to his feet. "This 'as gone far enough. None of yer disrespectable foreign ways for me! Why, I've never been washed by a female since my old mother used to give me a bath when I was a nipper! 'Ere, 'op it—skedaddle!"
Bill's remarks were not understood, but his gesture of dismissal was unmistakable. The slaves made each a low obeisance and retired; the face of the leader wore so obvious an air of pained astonishment that Bill felt he owed her some kind of reparation.
"It's all right, Alice," he called. "Waitoutside for me, an' I'll let yer brush me 'air arterwards."
Left alone, Bill undressed; he examined with profound suspicion the silver bowls of rich unguents which stood at one end of the bath; and then, extracting from his tunic-pocket a weary-looking cake of soap, he plunged into the water and prepared to give himself up to the enjoyment of the most luxurious moment that life had yet afforded him.
Meanwhile Alf, keeping watch outside, had begun to find time hang heavy on his hands. The farmyard was utterly deserted—only in the building into which he had seen Bill disappear was there any sign of life. He lounged into the road, cursing the fate which had given Bill the first choice, and wondering whether after all the chance of discovery was great enough to make his lonely vigil worth while. He debated this point for some time, and had almost made up his mind to chance it and join Bill forthwith, when he heard his name called.
"'Ere! 'Iggins!"
He looked up the road apprehensively. Two men of his own section had turned a corner and were bearing down upon him. Panic-stricken, he dashed into the farmyard and shouted for Bill. There was no response. Feverishly he felt for his Button and rubbed it.
"Eustace," he said in a trembling voice, "cart all that away—quick! An' then 'op it yerself. Look slippy!"
Bill Grant had just felt the warm, soft water close over his body—had just begun to realize a delicious sense of lightness and rest which pervaded his whole frame—when everything about him seemed to fade into smoke and disappear. The marble bath, the stately hall, the water, the silken hangings, all vanished in a flash, and he found himself, naked and cold, lying on the cobbled floor of an exceedingly well-ventilated French barn. Worst of all, his clothes had disappeared with the rest.
Outside in the yard he could see Alf signing to him in the greatest agitation; he made a dash for the haystack in the loft, and had just reached its sanctuary when he heard voices below him. Peeping through a crack in the loft floor he could see Denham and Walls, the two privates whose untimely appearance had upset Alf so completely.
"Corp'ril sent us for yer, Alf," explained Walls. "Says we got to bring yer back under escort for bilkin' yer bath."
"He also wished us to secure Grant," added Private Denham, a youth who was cultivating a refined accent with a view to subsequent application for a commission.
"Well, 'e ain't 'ere, me lord," answered Alf shortly. "I'll come right away. I was just comin', any'ow."
Unaware of the tragic loss of Bill's clothes, Alf was only anxious to get his captors away from the spot and to give his pal a chance of appearing clothedagain and in his right mind as soon as might be.
Bill heard their voices die away, and despairingly reviewed his position. The hay, with which he was obliged to cover himself for warmth, tickled his bare body cruelly. He was too far from his billet to think of trying to return there in his present condition, even if modesty had allowed. His clothes were irretrievably lost until Alf should come back that way, bringing the Button. Until Higgins realized that something was wrong and came in search of him, Bill must remain an outcast, naked and ashamed. He made himself a nest in the softest part of the hay and settled himself down to wait.
After a time he dozed off; he was recalled to himself by the sound of a footstep below. It paused at the bottom of the ladder leading to the loft.
"Alf!" said Bill in a stage whisper.
"Qui va la?" answered a strange voice—an old, quavery voice, apparently female. Bill curled himself into his nest of hay and lay perfectly still. The owner of the voice, having listened for some time, apparently decided that Bill's greeting had been a delusion of the senses and began painfully and wheezily to climb the ladder. Through a layer of hay, Bill's eye commanded the loft door. His visitor was an elderly Frenchwoman with a pitch-fork, evidently the owner of the hay.
She began to fork the hay down with surprising vigor for one so frail. Bill lay close as a maggot in a nut; but unfortunately, at her sixth prod, theold lady dug her weapon into one of the tenderest parts of his undraped anatomy, and Bill sprang up with an eldritch scream. Naked as he was, and festooned and bristling with hay, he was a startling apparition. The old Frenchwoman gave forth a yell as if all the devils in hell were after her, and clambered down the ladder with the speed of a cat. By some miracle she preserved her footing till she was halfway down the ladder; but then her feet slipped and she shot ignominiously on to her own hay. Bill thought for a moment that she had hurt herself; but a second later he heard her wooden shoes on the cobbles outside as she took to her heels and ran for her life.
Bill, shivering, returned gloomily to his hay. The fat was in the fire now, without a doubt. Even if she did not inform the colonel, the old lady was sure to alarm the villagers; and what they might do to him Bill hardly dared imagine. He lay shivering with cold and fright. After a time he seemed to hear stealthy footsteps. He determined that his only chance was to give himself up and throw himself on the mercy of his captors. He stood up, and shook himself free of the hay.
A voice below spoke—Alf's voice.
"Bill!" it said.
* * * * * * *
Half an hour later Bill stood before Sergeant Lees.
"Ho," said that autocrat. "'Ere you are.Bilked yer bath, you 'ave, so I 'ear, an' missed the Captain's inspection; an' the British soldier's first dooty is to be clean."
"I got a better bath in the village, sergeant. Didn't think you'd mind," said Bill desperately.
"Ho, did yer? Don't seem to 'ave done yer much good. 'Ave yer seen yerself?"
The sergeant handed him a shaving-mirror. Grant studied his features in silence. His adventures in the hay had completely destroyed the effects of his bath. His face was streaked and mottled with black dust till he looked like a dissipated nigger.
"No, my lad," said the sergeant grimly. "That yarn's like you—it don't wash. You'll report to Sergeant Oliver to-morrer an' act as bath-orderly for the rest o' the week."
Grant's appointment to the menial position of bath-orderly plunged him into a state of savage gloom. His duties were arduous and his hours long; and as he spent even his free time in morose silence, he soon made Alf as miserable as himself. Gradually the week wore away until at last the sentence was served, and Bill was once more a free man.
But his punishment seemed to have soured his whole outlook on life; even now he continued sullenly aloof till at last even the easy-going Alf felt himself constrained to remonstrate.
"Look 'ere, Bill," he said. "What's up?"
"Fed up!" growled Bill.
"Fed up? Well, o' course you're fed up. Ain't we all fed up? But that ain't no reason for goin' on like this. You might be a lot worse off. 'Ere we are, back from the line an' in billets in a nice little village with shops an' estaminets an' ... an' baths."
"If you wants one in the 'ear-'ole," said Bill, rising wrathfully, "you've on'y got to say 'bath' to me again. An' look 'ere, I never 'ad no use for sermons any'ow. Get on to the 'ymn."
Alf regarded him helplessly. Bill simply stared straight before him with a queer glint in his eyes.
"Look 'ere," said Higgins at last, deciding to stretch a point for the sake of a quiet life. "Shall I get Eustace to fetch yer a pint?"
"No."
"It'd do yer good."
"No, I tell yer. Keep yer blinkin' Eustace an' yer blinkin' beer, an' f'r 'Eaven's sake leave me alone. I'm fed up with the 'ole boilin' of yer—sick of it. Sick o' the War, an' this ruddy country, an' everything. I wants to get 'ome to Blighty, an', oh Gawd! to think I'll 'ave to wait another two months."
Alf was silent and sympathetic; he could remember times when he had been helpless in the grip of just such a desperate angry longing to escape from France and all that it stood for. An idea struck him.
"Couldn't Eustace ...?" he began.
"No. D'you think I 'aven't sense enough to think o' that meself? This is one o' them times when Eustace ain't no blinkin' use at all—unless you've got enough guts to send 'im over to get ole Kaiser Bill 'ere, an...."
"Well, I won't," said Alf obstinately. "I told you before. An' I don't see why Eustace can't take you over to Blighty all right. 'E brought that young lady over 'ere."
"Because," said Bill, with the air of oneexplaining truisms to a wrong-headed child, "if we asks Eustace to take us 'ome, what 'appens? We're deserters. Sooner or later we'd get found out an' shot. 'Tain't worth it. I should 'ave thought even you could 'ave understood that."
With this Parthian shot he stalked heavily away, leaving Alf disconsolate. But as soon as he was alone he began to ponder Alf's scorned suggestion. Was there not some way in which Eustace could be employed to take Bill and Alf home for a space without subjecting them to the risk of subsequent execution? He turned the question over in his restless mind, but in vain; and as a result his temper at bed-time was even less equable than before. Alf was glad to roll himself up in his blanket and go to sleep.
But Bill could not sleep. Long after "lights out," he lay awake, thinking and brooding over his problem; and his longing for Blighty grew sharper till it was almost more than he could bear. But he knew that until he could find some way of circumventing his difficulties he must continue, like the cat in the adage, to let "I dare not" wait upon "I would."
At last, just as daylight began to appear, a new idea struck him. It was a scheme of masterly simplicity in which his tired brain could detect no flaw. He leant over and shook the dimly visible form of Alf, who woke in astonishment and was about to give tongue when Bill's huge hand was clapped overhis mouth, and Bill's voice spoke fiercely in his ear.
"Quiet, you fool!"
"Wasermarrer?" enquired Alf thickly, as soon as the hand was removed.
"I got it!" whispered Bill triumphantly.
"Got what?"
"I knows 'ow we can work it."
There was a pause, as Alf allowed this to sink in. "Work what?" he asked at last.
"Wake up, you fat'ed, an' listen. It's a transfer we want."
"A what?"
"Atransfer!"
"Do we?"
Bill's overtried nerves snapped suddenly.
"If it wasn't for the row it'd make, I'd dot yer one," he hissed fiercely. "'Ere, put yer things on quiet an' slip outside, an' I'll tell yer there."
A few moments later, in the dim first light of dawn, Bill unfolded his scheme.
"If we tells Eustace to transfer us to the Reserve Battalion 'ome in Blighty, that ain't desertion, because we'd still be soldierin', see. An' it's about time you and me 'ad a little go o' soldierin' at 'ome, for a change like. Oh, it's a real brainy notion, Alf. Can't think why I never thought of it before."
Alf, still half-asleep, had only the vaguest conception of the meaning of the magic word "transfer" and still less of the formalities attachingthereto; but such was his trust in the acumen and the military knowledge of his mate that he accepted the statement without reserve. Acting under Bill's instructions he rubbed his Button. Instantly Eustace appeared with his usual formula.
"We want to be transferred," said Alf. "To the Reserve Battalion in Blighty—at once, please."
"Lord!" answered the djinn, "I hear and obey."
He advanced on the two privates who, expecting to feel themselves borne with appalling swiftness through the air, closed their eyes apprehensively; but nothing seemed to happen, and they opened them again.
"Lumme!" said Alf in astonishment. "Good ole Eustace!"
The scene before them had changed with the suddenness of a cinematograph film. The dawn was still just breaking, but instead of the cheerless plains of France they saw the wooded hills and trim hedges of an English landscape. They were standing on a country road beside a camp of wooden huts. Not far away the spire of a church and the chimneys of a few houses rising above the drifting morning mist showed where a village stood; and as they tried to gather their wits together they heard a sound to which their ears had long been strangers—the distant rumble of an express train.
"Good ole Eustace—an' good ole Blighty!" said Bill softly. "Come on, Alf. There's a sentry at the gate. We'll report to 'im."
The sentry at once handed them over to the sergeant of the guard, who produced a piece of paper and a stubby pencil.
"Nice time o' day to come in, I don't think," he observed severely. "Overstayed yer week-end leave, I s'pose. Where's your passes?"
"We 'aven't got no passes, sergeant. We've...."
"Names, please," interrupted the catechist. "1287 'Iggins A. an' 2312 Grant W. Which comp'ny?"
"'C' Comp'ny, 5th M.F., B.E.F."
"Yes, yes," said the sergeant with heavy sarcasm. "You can say yer alphabet arterwards. An' I don't want yer past 'istory, neither. This ain't the B.E.F. an' I want to know which comp'ny you belong to 'ere."
"We dunno, sergeant. We been transferred from the B.E.F. an' we're just reportin'."
"What, at this time o' day, an' without any kit? All right, you needn't trouble to tell me any more. You tell it all to the C.O. when 'e sees you. 'E'll 'arf skin yer, I expect, for rollin' in at this time, because the last train for 'ere gets in at eight o'clock in the evening."
Alf and Bill sat in the guard-room, their first elation rather dashed. Once more things were turning out unexpectedly difficult. They were indeed back in Blighty, but were to be half-skinned as a result. If on top of this Eustace managed to make anymistake in the transfer, they might reasonably expect to be completely flayed by the colonel, who had the reputation (which had reached the brigade in France by means of the drafts he sent out to it) of being a fire-eater. Bill began to regret bitterly his impulsiveness in leaving the technical details of his scheme to Eustace; but he realized that it was now too late to do anything. He and Alf would be kept under strict surveillance until the time of their interview with the C.O., and there would be no possible chance of summoning Eustace and ascertaining just what he had done.
They decided to do nothing, and to hope for the best. Even a guard-room in Blighty seemed to them at that moment preferable to their billet in France.
Soon after breakfast the hour for the inquisition arrived and the two friends found themselves side by side "on the mat" before the great man, who was physically a very little man. Colonel Watts was a "dug-out." Some time before the war broke out he had retired from a very long and incredibly undistinguished military career with the rank of major, and had devoted himself to bullying his meek wife and generally making her life a misery. When the war began the gallant major, much to Mrs. Watts' relief, applied for and obtained command of a New Army battalion. Unfortunately, however, he managed to quarrel so violently with all his immediate superiors and most of his colleagues that the divisional general refused to take him to thefront. Shortly before the division sailed for France the little man returned raging to Tunbridge Wells, discharged all his wife's servants, poisoned her dog, and proceeded to vent all his accumulated spleen on the poor lady herself. Eventually, only just in time to save Mrs. Watts' sanity, he was offered the command of the Territorial reserve battalion of the Middlesex Fusiliers, a post which he had held ever since.
He sat behind a very large table, with Captain Sandeman, his adjutant, standing beside him. Alf and Bill were marched in by the regimental sergeant-major, an unctuous person very different from the martinet who controlled the 5th Battalion at the front.
"Private Higgins, sir, and Private Grant," he announced—as who should say, "Mr. and Mrs. Platt-Harcourt, my lady!"
"Higgins!" repeated the Colonel, gazing ferociously at Alf from under his beetling eyebrows. "Higgins! Higgins!!"
"Yessir!" said Alf, thinking that confirmation was being required.
"Be quiet!" roared Colonel Watts, with such suddenness that Alf took a step backwards in alarm. "And stand still!"
"Stand still, man, and only speak when you are spoken to," said the oily voice of the R.S.M. in Alf's ear.
The colonel fixed the unfortunate Alf with aprotruding eye, and continued his baleful glare until his victim was on the very verge of crying out. His one idea seemed to be to intimidate Alf; he paid no attention whatever to Bill, who was standing stiffly to attention, his eyes fixed in a lack-luster stare on the wall above the adjutant's head.
"Well?" the C.O. ground out at last between his teeth. The sergeant-major gave a consequential little cough and signed to the sergeant of the guard to give his evidence.
"These men arrived 'ere, sir, in the early hours of this mornin', about four o'clock, and failed to give any satisfactory account of themselves. They 'ad no kit, sir, an' no passes. They state that they 'ave been transferred to us from the Expeditionary Force, sir, but they 'ave no papers to prove it."
"Good God!" shouted the colonel. "This is disgraceful. More incompetence! If I've written one letter complaining of this kind of thing I've written a dozen. Men come here without papers, without kit, without orders, and expect us to look after 'em. The Army in France is one mass of incompetent fools, in my opinion. It's a scandal, Sandeman."
The adjutant said nothing. The C.O. hardly seemed to expect him to, for he swept on without a pause.
"If I'd my way, I'd scrap the whole lot of 'em, and have a few men who know their jobs put ininstead. No papers, no nothing. Disgraceful! Where's your kit, man?"
Alf, finding that this question also was addressed to him, and having no reply ready, merely gaped.
"Speak up!" bawled the Colonel.
"L—l—lost it, sir."
The C.O. dashed his pen violently on to his desk, where it stuck quivering on its point, turned round in his chair and silently eyed his adjutant for ten palpitating seconds.
"D'ye hear that, Sandeman? He's lost it. Good God! What are we coming to?... The Government has fitted him out with a complete set of kit and he's lost it ... and how," he vociferated, turning round once more with such unexpected speed that Alf once more gave back a pace. "How d'you mean to tell me you lost it, eh?"
But Alf's inventive powers were exhausted, and Bill judged it time, at whatever risk to life and limb, to take a speaking part in the little drama.
"Overboard, sir, in the Channel," he said, without removing his eye from the wall. "Off of a ship," he added as an afterthought, in order that there should be no misunderstanding possible.
Colonel Watts appeared to regard this as the last straw. For a moment he seemed unable to articulate at all, and the hue of his countenance deepened through successive shades till it finally arrived at a congested purple. He hammered on his desk with his fist.
"I will not have my valuable time wasted in this way!" he roared. "Bring these men before me to-morrow, sergeant-major, and if I can't get a coherent account of them from some one, there'll be trouble. Incompetent fools!"
He puffed passionately out of the orderly-room and slammed the door, leaving it uncertain whether his last remark was addressed only to Alf and Bill, or whether it was not rather intended to include the adjutant, the R.S.M., the sergeant of the guard and the impassive privates acting as prisoners' escort. He was to be heard faintly outside in unkind criticism of the sentry's method of presenting arms. Then there was silence, and a general feeling as though the sun had come out.
"Prisoners and escort," began the R.S.M. "Right-TURN! Quick...."
"Wait, sergeant-major," said Captain Sandeman quietly. "I want to ask these men a question or two. Send the escort off."
Bill's heart sank. Captain Sandeman had lost the air of passive indifference which he wore as protective armor in the presence of Colonel Watts. He looked horribly intelligent and wide-awake.
"Now, listen to me," he said. "I don't understand your case at all. Are you rejoining from hospital?"
"No, sir. From the front. Transferred, sir."
"But why? And where are your papers?"
"Didn't 'ave no papers, sir. We was just toldto report 'ere. The papers is comin' by post, I think, sir."
"Um. Which is your battalion, and company?"
"The fifth, sir—'C' Comp'ny."
Bill was beginning to realize that Eustace had, in his muddle-headed way, landed them in a very tight corner. He would have lied had he dared; but he knew that there must be scores of men serving now with the Reserve who had known both himself and Alf at the front.
"That's Captain Richards' company, isn't it?"
"Yessir. But the Captain went away on a course yesterday, sir, and Lieutenant Donaldson is in command now."
"Yesterday?How d'you know that?"
Bill had seen his slip as soon as he made it.
"I 'eard 'e was goin' before I left, sir," he answered readily.
"Um. And you don't know why you've been sent back?"
"No, sir."
Captain Sandeman became suddenly stern.
"There is something very irregular about the whole business," he said. "I don't see how you can possibly have got across the Channel in any legitimate way without papers. The whole thing looks most fishy, and it seems to me that you two men are asking for very serious trouble. Now, I warn you, I give you an opportunity now of telling me all about it; but if you persist in that story about beingtransferred without any papers, I'll have to keep you safe here till I can find out the truth from Mr. Donaldson. Now, what have you to say?"
"Nothing, sir," said Bill quickly. For one moment he was afraid that Alf was going to lose his head and tell the incredible truth; he shot a glance of warning at his mate, who subsided; and the adjutant waited in vain for an answer to his appeal.
"Very well," he said. "Put 'em in the cells, sergeant-major."
The two unfortunates were accordingly marched away and were once more handed over to the sergeant of the guard.
"Cells for these two beauties, an' keep 'em safe, or it'll be worse for you. Deserters they look like. It's a court-martial case."
Alf quaked at this realization of his worse fears, while even Bill looked concerned.
"I've on'y one cell, sir," said the sergeant of the guard.
"Very well. Shove 'em in together. Can't be helped."
The R.S.M. went off.
The instant the key turned on the two men, Alf produced the Button and rubbed it.
"What wouldst thou have?" began Eustace, his deep voice reverberating round the little cell. "I am...."
"Stop it—they'll 'ear you!"
"They 'ave 'eard 'im," whispered Bill. "Quick, Alf."
The sergeant, who had heard the rumbling voice, was already fumbling with the stiff lock.
"Take us away," whispered Alf in trembling tones. "Anywhere out of 'ere.Quick!"
Before the sergeant had opened the door the whole camp had faded from their view, and the two found themselves in a desolate waste, faced by a very puzzled and indignant djinn.
"Lumme, that was a near squeak!" gasped Alf.
"Yes," said Bill. He addressed Eustace in heated tones. "What the 'ell did you want to go an' land us in a mess like that for? Didn't Mr. 'Iggins say as plain as print it was a transfer we wanted. Don't you know nothing at all?"
"It's always the same," put in Alf parenthetically. "No common sense. Too slap-dash an' 'olesale."
But Eustace was ignorant of the nature of his offense. He was conscious only that he had had to be called in at a desperate crisis to rescue his master from danger. He was full of indignation at such sacrilege.
"Lord!" he said. "Command me that I should go to that impious one and instantly reduce him to ashes—both him and his family and all that are about him. Ill beseemeth it that any should lay impious hands upon the Lord of the Button, and live."
"'E's a bloodthirsty customer, ain't 'e?" said Bill in awed admiration. "Talk about 'olesale! Look 'ere, Eustace, you'll be getting us into 'orrible trouble if you don't look out. What was it you wanted to do—reduce the R.S.M. to ashes? We're in a bad enough 'ole as it is, but that would fair put the lid on. You wants to be a little more up to date. Me an' Mr. 'Iggins is on'y privates, you know; an' if we get monkeyin' with sergeant-majors there'll be 'ell on for all of us."
"Verily," said the djinn in perplexed tones, "I do not understand thy speech. Ill beseemeth it that any man should presume to order the comings and the goings of the Lord of the Button. Bid me abase this proud upstart, and thou shalt rule in his stead."
"No, thank you," said Alf. "I don't want to be no bloomin' orficer. I'm a plain man, I am. You see, Eustace, it's like this. In this 'ere war, every one's fightin'—soldiers an' civilians an' all. Now, I'm not a soldier by trade—fruit and vegetable salesman I am. So I 'as to obey the orficers an' the sergeants, 'cos they knows the job. If they'd come into the fruit an' vegetables not knowin' a carrot from a crisantlemum, they'd 'ave 'ad to obey me. See?"
"I don't think!" put in Bill. "Look 'ere, Eustace, your job's to get us out o' this 'ere mess. Just through yer bloomin' ignorance you're landed us in a proper 'ole. 'Ere we are; we've desertedfrom the front, an' we've broken arrest in the Reserve Battalion. 'Ow are we goin' to get out o' that, eh?"
Alf made a tentative suggestion, his mind on Colonel Watts.
"Better go back to France, 'adn't we?"
"I sh'd think we'ad." Bill's hopeless nostalgia of the day before was entirely forgotten. "Why, I'd sooner stay in France the rest o' the war than serve under that blighter we was before this mornin'. 'E was a corker."
"But if we're deserters," said Alf dismally, "'ow can we go back? Wouldn't they shoot us?"
Bill looked at his watch.
"Why, it's on'y ten o'clock now," he said. "They'd find we was gone at revally, so we've on'y been away about four hours. What's four hours when the battalion's restin'? They can't do much to us."
"Might stop our leave."
"True for you. So they might. Now, what can we ...? I got it. 'Ere, Eustace, put us down about 'arf a mile from the camp in France, will you? Alf, you tell 'im. 'E won't do it for me."
Alf complied. The familiar flat landscape reappeared before them and they welcomed it almost with joy.
"Now," said Bill impressively, "tell 'im to 'op over into the Boche lines an' bring us a prisoner.An' mind, none of 'is 'olesale ways! 'E'll bring a 'ole army corps over if you don't look out, an' then we'd look silly. Just one, tell 'im—a officer."
In a moment a fat and haughty-looking German officer stood beside them. When he saw the khaki tunics, his hand went to his side, but the two Tommies flung themselves upon him.
"Get 'is revolver, Alf," panted Bill. "That's the ticket. Now then, 'ands up, Fritz. You come with us. You're our blinkin' alibi."
"What are you?" asked the Boche, in excellent English. "You have, I suppose, escaped from your cage. I warn you, you English dogs, to be more respectful to your superiors. When you are caught it shall go hard with you. That a common English swine shall callmeFritz."
"Nothin' to what you'll be called in a minute if you don't be'ave. Alf, I b'lieve the pore blighter thinks 'e's still in 'is own lines. What a sell for 'im."
"Come on, Bochie," said Alf, his finger on the trigger of the revolver. "Quick march."
"I will not move," declared the prisoner sullenly. "You cannot escape. There are men of mine on every side. Give me the revolver and I will see that you are not punished—much."
"Thank you for nothing," said Bill. "These 'ere are the British lines you're in, Fritz dear, an' you're our prisoner—see?"
The German, who still failed to grasp the situation, broke into a torrent of abuse and threats.
"Ain't 'e the little gentleman," said Alf in admiration.
Bill suddenly lost patience.
"'Ere," he said. "Let's kill 'im an' get another one. I can't stand 'ere arguin' all day. For one thing, the longer we stays away the bigger row we gets into. Now, Fritz, take yer choice. Will you come quiet, or will you 'ave a nice cheap funeral?"
The German, seeing that Bill was in earnest, and believing that his rescue could not be long delayed, marched stiffly off with a very bad grace. His astonishment was pitiable when he found himself being marched through little knots and groups of staring figures in khaki to a British camp. His bombastic air disappeared, and his knees sagged under him.
"Thought you'd 'ave a shock before long, Fritz," said Bill. "Comes o' not believin' a gentleman's word. Step lively, now. We're just 'ome, an' I want you to look yer best. After this," he added in an undertone to Alf, "they can't say very much to us, anyway."
Bill was right. In the excitement caused by their dramatic return, the authorities forgot to make any inquiry into the unauthorized absence of the heroes of the hour.
Some days later, Lieutenant Donaldson was sitting in "C" Company officers' billet, when the battalion intelligence officer entered.
"Hallo," said Donaldson. "You look worried. What's up?"
"I am worried. I wish you'd point out to your company what a nuisance they make themselves to their superiors when they go capturing Boche officers in the rest area. Ask 'em to think twice in future. It'd save trouble if they'd kill the next one they find and bury him on the spot."
"Why, what's up?"
"Well, the Staff's very anxious to know what this particular chap was doing and how he got there. I do see their point, you know. They take the highly reasonable view that as prisoners are not usually captured miles behind the lines in full uniform, this chap must have been up to some extra special form of devilry. The presumption is that he'd been spying, but they can't get a word of sense out of the man himself. He pretends not to know how he got into our lines. And the queer thing is that we found papers on him dated the same dayas his capture—routine orders and so on—which tally with papers of the same date on other prisoners taken in the usual way. The thing's uncanny, because it's so senseless."
"Have you noticed," said Lieutenant Donaldson reflectively, "that there've been one or two things out of the ordinary that have happened in this battalion lately?"
"I know. And the colonel wants it stopped. Says it'll give the battalion a bad name."
"Perhaps we've a family ghost," suggested Donaldson. "Anyway, I don't see how it hurtsyou."
"Me? The Staff seem to think I'm entirely responsible for the whole thing. They want to know—in writing—why I didn't get a full biography of the blighter when he was brought in—as if he was any more likely to unbosom himself to me than to the people who caught him. And now, to give me a chance of recovery of my prestige, I suppose, I've to see Higgins and Grant and find out anything I can from them. Could you have 'em sent for?"
"Of course."
"The officer's compliments to 'is conquerin' 'eroes," said Sergeant Lees when the message arrived, "an' would they favor 'im with their company for a quiet chat?"
Ever since Alf and Bill's exploit had shed brilliant if unexpected luster on their platoon, Sergeant Lees had unbent with them and assumed a heavyjocularity. This was his method of indicating that he was pleased with them, but it filled Alf with grave forebodings. Bill, on the other hand, took what the gods gave and basked in the brief sunshine of the sergeant's smile. On this occasion, however, he basked too openly and the sun went in.
"Well," he answered in languid, aristocratic tones. "If Don feels 'e'd like to see us, I s'pose we might as well drop round for a minute or two, eh, Alfred?"
"'Ere," said the sergeant, who held that a joke was only a joke so long as the right person made it, "none o' that. Clean yourselves up an' report to the officers' billet immediate."
"Come in," called Lieutenant Donaldson, as Bill knocked on the door. "Stand easy. Now, Grant and Higgins. I haven't had a chance of congratulating you on what you did the other day."
"That wasn't nothing, sir—on'y luck, that was," murmured Bill, and Alf shuffled his feet sympathetically. Each had an uncomfortable feeling that he was obtaining credit on false pretenses.
"However," continued the company commander, "what I want you to do now is to tell the intelligence officer just how it all happened, and answer his questions."
He was looking at Higgins as he spoke, and could not help being struck with the expression of horrified apprehension that flitted across those ingenuous features. He said nothing, however, but while theintelligence officer was catechizing them he kept his sleepy-looking but most observant eyes more than ordinarily wide open.
"And that's all you can tell me?" asked the I.O., after he had asked a dozen questions and received nothing but the most unsatisfactory of replies.
"Yes, sir. The Boche, 'e didn't tell us nothing. 'E comes down the road, an' we jumps out on 'im. 'Iggins 'ere grabs 'is pistol, an' we marches 'im 'ome. That's all."
"Did you question him at all?"
"No, sir."
"Why not? You didn't expect to see a Boche officer there, did you?"
"No, sir."
"Then why didn't you question him?"
Bill looked about him for inspiration, and got it.
"I thought, sir, as 'ow we ought to leave all that to you."
Lieutenant Donaldson watched the relief overflow Alf's countenance, and wondered what all this could mean.
"That's what the Staff seem to think, too," sighed the I.O., getting sadly to his feet. "Well, if that's all you can tell me, I'll be off. I hope it'll pacify the blighters. I can see myself getting shot at dawn over this business. So long, Donaldson."
He went out. Higgins and Grant saluted and were about to follow, when Donaldson, taking a letter from his pocket, stopped them.
"I've had a most curious letter," he said slowly, "from the Reserve Battalion." He looked up sharply as he spoke, and saw sheer panic terror gazing at him from Alf's eyes. "Captain Sandeman writes to ask if you two men are here or whether by any chance you have deserted. He gives your names and numbers correctly, and a description of you both, and says that these two men reported to his battalion and then broke out of the guard-room and mysteriously disappeared."
He looked sharply from one to the other. Alf was trembling visibly; Bill was trying to look unconcerned, but with little success.
"Now, listen to me," said Lieutenant Donaldson, in the most impressive voice he could summon. "Understand this. I've had my eye on you two men for some time, and this little game of yours has got to stop. I shall say no more now, but the next time...."
He glanced once more at Alf, and saw that the effects of his remarks were good.
"Now go," he said, "and remember, be very careful in future. You're both due for your month's leave in a short time, and it would be a pity to spoil it. That's all."
As the two saluted and shambled out their officer gave a rueful laugh.
"Now, I'd give a good deal," he said to himself, "to know just exactly what I was talking about just now, and what they thought I meant."
* * * * * * *
"What are we goin' to do now, Bill?" asked Alf miserably, as soon as they had left the company commander's presence.
"Do?" said Bill, who had recovered his balance to some extent. "Why, nothin'. What d'you want to do?"
"Well, it's all up, ain't it, now 'e knows all about it?"
"Rats!" said Bill contemptuously. "'Ow can 'e know all about it? I told you before that Don's no fool, but 'e ain't such a bloomin' conjurer as all that. 'E's just noticed that there's something funny about me an' you, that's all; an' 'e's got both eyes wide open now waitin' for next time. Well, there ain't got to be no next time, that's all."
"You mean I'll 'ave to throw the Button away?"
"What!Throw it away? You're barmy." Bill glared at his pal.
"Well, what do I do?"
"I tell yer. Do nothing."
"Nothing at all? Keep the Button, an' ..."
"O' course you keep the Button, you blinkin' idjit. Does Don know anything about yer blinkin' Button? It's my belief Don don't know a thing—'e's just bluffin' us. But all you 'ave to do is to leave the Button alone till we get our leave. No more Eustace till we're safe 'ome; but if you chuck the Button away, Alf 'Iggins, I'll 'arf kill you. But I'd give a good bit, I would, to know 'ow much Donaldson really knows."
Next day the news came through that the brigade was not after all to be sent to another part of the front; instead, it moved up once more for a tour of duty in the well-known sector. The attention of both sides at this time was concentrated on the great battle going on at Arras, and the remainder of the front was quiet but watchful. On the brigade's frontage nothing more strenuous happened than a continuous but not very intense bombardment, and though the division on their right made a trench-raid, the Middlesex Fusiliers were not called upon for any exciting work.
During all this period Alf and Bill were as conspicuous by their presence among their mates as they had formerly been by their absence. Whenever wiring-parties and similar delights were required, their names were usually the first on Sergeant Lees' list, while fatigues of every kind became to them a hobby.
"It's a queer thing," the sergeant observed caustically to the company sergeant-major one day, after he had fallen in a working-party for Lieutenant Donaldson's inspection, and had heard the officer comment favorably on the appearance of Privates Higgins and Grant, "what good soldiers all our scally-wags seem to 'ave become, now that there's a chance of gettin' a leave. They'll eat out o' me 'and now, but you see what'll 'appen as soon as they've 'ad their leave. More trouble they'll be 'n a bagful o' monkeys."
The two were feeling the monotony of their return to the ordinary existence of the front very bitterly.
"Takes all the spice out o' life, not bein' able to do things with Eustace," said Bill, quite forgetting that he had managed to infuse quite a considerable amount of spice into his life in the days before the coming of the djinn. "If our leave don't come through soon I shall go clean barmy, I b'lieve."
At last the longed-for moment arrived. They were both officially informed that their reëngagement leave of twenty-eight days was duly sanctioned and that, barring accidents, they would depart in one week's time.
"A week?" sighed Alf dolefully. "We may both be pushin' up the daisies in a week from now."
"That's what I like about you, Higgins, you're so cheerful," said Corporal Greenstock, who overheard this remark. "Anyhow, if you want to start daisypushing this journey you'll have to hurry. We're being relieved to-night." He passed on.
"A week is little enough, too," said Bill suddenly, "for all we got to do."
"What d'you mean?"
"We got to settle up about this 'ere marriage o' yours, to begin with. Why, we don't even know the bloomin' girl's name, yet."
Alf grinned sheepishly.
"I do," he said. He extracted from his pocket a bulky and dilapidated pocket-book, from the dusky recesses of which he produced a wad of paper. Heunfolded this and smoothed out its many creases, when it disclosed itself as a page torn from the last number ofThe Sketchwhich had reached the battalion. It was headed "A Paradise for Wounded Heroes." The first photograph showed Alf's wonderful visitor in nurse's uniform, and beneath it was written, "Miss Isobel FitzPeter, the famous society beauty. She has now left Town altogether and is devoting herself entirely to the Convalescent Home for Officers which she has established at her father's beautiful place, Dunwater Park, of which we give pictures below. Miss FitzPeter has taken entire charge of the administrative work of the Home. We congratulate the fortunate few whose lucky stars will lead them into the care of so fair a pair of hands."
"Umph!" said Bill, when he had inwardly digested this. "So that's 'oo she is! Well, I must say I thought she might 'ave been Lady Something. Why, she ain't even a 'honorable.' You'd better change your mind, Alf, before you get too far. Sure you wouldn't like a princess? Eustace'll get one for you as easy as wink."
But Alf shook his head; he had been thankful to find that the lady of his dreams moved in no more rarefied an atmosphere. It had made her a little more accessible.
Bill continued his study of the page in his hand.
"'Dunwater Park, from the South,'" he read. "Nice little villa enough—'bout the size o'Buckingham Palace. You won't 'ave to turn the kids out of their bedroom when I come week-endin' with you an' the missus there, will you?"
Alf gave a nervous snigger.
"'Dunwater Park, from the North-West,'" pursued Bill. "Yes, it's a big place, but we'll make Eustace put one up for us as'll beat this all to nothing. What's this? 'Group of officers at present under Miss FitzPeter's care.' Look 'appy enough, don't they? Why ain't she in it? If I'd been 'er, I'd 'ave planked meself down in the middle of that photo, I would. 'Ullo, 'ere's one 'oo looks like our Mr. Allen."
"P'raps it is 'im."
"They don't put names, so we can't tell. Ever 'ad yer photo in the papers, Alf?"
"No. 'Ow could I?"
"Well, they 'ave lots o' silly things in sometimes. Any'ow, once you've married this girl and got a big 'ouse you'll 'ave yer photo in once a day, an' twice on Sundays. 'Oo's this ole cock at the bottom o' the page? 'Sir Edward FitzPeter.' That's 'er pa. If I'd been you I'd 'ave 'ad a lord, but you never was proud, was you, Alf?"
"Bill," answered Higgins seriously, "it ain't no good."
"What ain't no good?"
"My marryin' 'er. It—it ain't right. She's too 'igh up for me. She—she ought to 'ave a gentleman."
"Lumme," said Bill scornfully, "you ain't goin' to get cold feet now, are you? 'Ere you are, the richest man in the 'ole world once you get 'ome, an' you go an' get the wind up because some bloomin' girl without even a Hon before 'er name is too 'igh for you."
"'Oo's the richest man in the world?"
"You are, o' course. Don't you ever sit down an' think out what you can do with that Button o' yours? Lumme, ifI'ad it.... 'Ere, just as a test like, tell Eustace to bring you a thousand quid!"
"Not me. We said we wouldn't...."
"Right you are—my mistake," conceded Bill. "Well, you can take it from me it'll be all right."
"Eustace generally mucks it some'ow."
"Ah, but that's because we been giving 'im things to do as 'e's not used to. But this weddin' business an' the 'ouse an' so on'll be easy to 'im; he's done it all before for Aladdin. If only that ole lady'd send me that book what I asked 'er for, we'd know better what Eustace can do. But if she don't get a move on it'll be too late."
But next day, when the company reached its billet, a mail arrived, in which was a bulky package addressed to Mr. William Grant, Pte. The old lady had not failed her protégé. The parcel contained an aged copy of theArabian Nights, leather bound and smelling faintly of camphor. Between two pages of the book had been slipped a letter.
"Dear William Grant," it ran."I can so well imagine how the hearts of our dear boys in the trenches must yearn for the simple stories of their childhood. I have been unable to obtain for you a separate edition of the story you desire, so I send you a complete edition which belonged to my poor brother. It was one of his most cherished treasures, and I have always preserved it in memory of him; but I am sure that he could have wished nothing better than that his book should be instrumental in adding to the happiness of our brave soldiers. That it may bring you some cheer in the midst of your terrible troubles is the earnest wish of"Yours most truly,"Sophia Browne."
"Dear William Grant," it ran.
"I can so well imagine how the hearts of our dear boys in the trenches must yearn for the simple stories of their childhood. I have been unable to obtain for you a separate edition of the story you desire, so I send you a complete edition which belonged to my poor brother. It was one of his most cherished treasures, and I have always preserved it in memory of him; but I am sure that he could have wished nothing better than that his book should be instrumental in adding to the happiness of our brave soldiers. That it may bring you some cheer in the midst of your terrible troubles is the earnest wish of
"Yours most truly,"Sophia Browne."
"I call that pathetic, I do," said Alf.
"Pore ole girl," said Bill. "Seems a shame, don't it?"
"Tell you what," Alf suggested, "we'll keep it nice an' clean an' send it 'er back when we've done with it. Don't seem fair, do it, not to?"
"Well, you ain't started very well, 'ave you?"
"What d'yer mean?"
Bill leant forward and laid his finger on the open page, whose slightly yellowed surface was now adorned with a smudgy impress of Alf Higgins' unwashed thumb.
For the rest of that day Bill devoted himselfsternly to study. He found the story of Aladdin very long and full of irrelevant detail, but by night his task was ended.
"Nice people they was in them times," he said, as he shut the book. "Kill you as soon as look at you. Alf, 'ere's a bit of advice for you. Whatever you do, mind you never send Eustace birds-nestin' for you."
"Birds-nestin'?"
"Yes. Seems it's the one thing 'e can't stick. Aladdin nearly upset the apple-cart that way. 'E asked for a rook's egg and Eustace turned nasty. Read for yourself."
Alf plodded painfully through the passage.
"Do R-O-C spell 'rook'?" he asked finally.
"'Course it do," said Bill. "So now we'll 'ave to be careful. 'Tain't the kind o' thing a sensible bloke would ask for any'ow, but people do get silly fancies."
"What else do the book say?"
"Just what I told you. There's on'y one thing in this world you can't 'ave, my lad, an' that's this bloomin' rook's egg. Eustace'll rig you up a 'ouse in 'arf a tick as'll make Windsor Castle look like workmen's dwellin's. You've on'y got to say the word, an' there it is. So what we 'ave to do is to 'ave a real tip-top palace stuck down somewhere near this Ditchwater Park."
"But 'ow can we?"
"'Ow d'yer mean? Eustace'll do it."
"Yes, but if we go plantin' palaces on other people's ground we'll get sent to clink, or something. Then we'd look silly."
"Good for you, Alf. That's true. In the book Aladdin got a bit o' land from 'is girl's father, an' built 'is 'appy 'ome on that. We can't do that. That ole boy in your picture don't look that sort. No, I'll tell you what—we'll 'ave to take a 'ouse—one of these 'ere big 'ouses in the country like the one your girl lives in, an' we'll let Eustace do it all up. Arter all, if we went an' told Eustace to build us a palace all in a night we'd 'ave the police an' the newspapers an' I don't know what else on our tracks."
"There mayn't be no big 'ouse goin' in 'er neighbor'ood."
"Well, we'll 'ave to send Eustace over an' find out."
"Send Eustace?" inquired Alf vaguely.
"We'll 'ave to. We got no time to waste."
"But the officer said...."
"I know what 'e said as well as you do; an' I'm no more wishful to get my leave stopped than what you are. But after all, where's the 'arm? We never been found out yet, an' it won't take 'arf a tick, an' I know a place where we'll never get spotted."
Reluctantly Alf was persuaded to Bill's retreat—a disused dug-out—and there, in much trepidation, he summoned Eustace. He producedThe Sketchcutting once more from his pocket-book, and Bill explained to the djinn what was wanted.
"Mr. 'Iggins wants to marry that young lady you introduced 'im to, Eustace," Grant explained.
"Verily," replied the djinn, "the maid is of a fairness surpassing even the Princess Badralbudour, the bride of the Prince Aladdin."
"Yes. Well, this is 'er 'ouse, see? 'E wants you to take a 'ouse for 'im near by, something after the same style."
"In truth," said Eustace disdainfully, "it is not meet that the Lord of the Button should dwell in so mean a house. Command me that I build thee a palace like unto that of Aladdin, or even more richly bedight still, and it shall be done."
"Palaces ain't the fashion now," returned Bill imperturbably. "This sort of thing is all the rage. The lady won't like anything else, an' we 'ave to think of 'er, you know."
"See what you can do, Eustace," said Alf, "an' we'll wait 'ere for you."
"Lord, I hear and obey."
The djinn disappeared, and remained absent for half an hour, when he materialized once more, wearing a complacent expression.
"Lord," he said, "it is done. When will it please my Lord to see his dwelling place?"
"'Ave you took a 'ouse already?" asked Alf, aghast.
"Verily, the dwelling is unworthy that the Lordof the Button should inhabit it; yet is it not less in appearance than the dwelling of thy bride's father, and assuredly in the magnificence of its interior it doth far outshine his."
Alf turned despairingly to Bill.
"There 'e goes again. Slapdash an' 'olesale. 'Ow do we know what 'arm 'e's done? 'E's probably mucked up the 'ole show now. I'm getting fed up."
"Lord," said the djinn, "the dwelling is lacking in nothing that the most extravagent of monarchs could desire."
"You read the book, Alf," advised Bill. "It'll be all right. If there's one thing Eustace does know all about, it's 'ouse-furnishin' an' decoratin'. You wait a week, an' you'll...."
He broke off in the middle of his sentence and listened intently. Voices were heard above, and then the sound of feet descending the stairs. Eustace vanished without waiting for orders—he was quickly becoming accustomed to his new routine. The two men, pocketing their pipes, retreated to the farthest depths of the dug-out. The footsteps grew louder, till three figures, dimly silhouetted against the light from the stairway, entered the dug-out.
"This is the place, sir," said Lieutenant Donaldson's voice. "I noticed it the other day. It runs quite a long way back, and if Finlay cares to put his stuff here I'll put a sentry over it."
"Seems all right," said another voice, at thesound of which Bill clutched Alf's arm. "Let's have a look at it."
Colonel Enderby switched on his pocket torch and cast its faint beam round, but without disclosing the cowering figures in the corner.
"Well, Finlay," he said at last, "I don't think you'll get a better bomb-store than this."
"No, sir." The bombing officer switched on his own torch and walked to the far end, examining the walls for signs of damp. "Seems quite dry, too. I—Hallo!"
"What's the matter?"
Lieutenant Finlay had found the rays of his torch throwing up into ghastly relief the open mouth and glassy terrified eyes of Private Higgins.
"Who are you?" he said sharply. "Come out of that!"
"What's the matter?" repeated the Colonel.
"There's a man here, sir—two men, I mean. Who are you?"
"Privates Grant and Higgins, sir." The two came sheepishly into the light.
"What?" said Lieutenant Donaldson in tones of thunder. "You two again? What are you up tonow?"
"Looking for another German officer, I expect," said the colonel humorously. "Well, well, we mustn't be too hard on such a remarkable pair, Mr. Donaldson. But they must understand that this straying from their platoon must cease."
"Yes, sir." The company commander turned to his two scapegraces. "Clear out of this," he said in a fierce tone, "and you can thank your lucky stars that the colonel was here. I'm fed up with you."
The two, returning to their platoon at the double, sought out Sergeant Lees and volunteered for a carrying party for which that N.C.O. was just detailing a reluctant squad.
"Cert'nly," said he. "Always ready to oblige, I am. Sure you 'aven't any little friends you'd like to bring? Very well, then, never say I didn't do anything for you."