There was another sentry by the door. Arthur said something to him and the man shone a light on their faces before nodding to Arthur and motioning them on. Arthur opened the door and they followed him into the house.
There was a long narrow hall with a staircase and several doorways. An oil lamp hung from a hook by the front door. There was no plaster on the ceiling and very little left on the walls. It looked like what it was, a house which had been gutted by bomb blast or shellfire and temporarily repaired.
“Here we are,” said Arthur; “H.Q. mess and anteroom.”
He had opened the door of what appeared to be a dining-room. There was a bare trestle table with benches on either side. On the table there were bottles, glasses, a pile of knives and forks, and another oil lamp. In a corner of the room, on the floor, there were empty bottles.
“Nobody at home,” said Arthur. “I dare say you could do with a snifter, eh? Help yourselves. The you-know-what is just across the hall on the right if anybody’s interested. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He went out of the room, shutting the door after him. They heard him clattering up the stairs.
George looked at the bottles. There was Greek wine and plum brandy. He looked at Miss Kolin.
“Drink, Miss Kolin?”
“Yes, please.”
He poured out two brandies. She picked hers up, drank it down at a gulp, and held the glass out to be filled again. He filled it.