"Which ambulance will he go out with?" asked Mrs. Bracher.
"He will have a touring-car of his own," replied Dr. McDonnell.
"I thought you said he was a cyclist," objected Mrs. Bracher.
"I gave him an order on Calais," explained the Doctor. "He went down there and selected a speed-car. I'm expecting him any minute," he added.
The short afternoon had waned away into brief twilight, and then, with a suddenness, into the blackness of the winter night. As they two faced out into the Grand Place, there was depth on depth of black space, from which came the throb of a motor, the whistle of a soldier, the clatter of hooves on cobbles. Only out from their window there fell a short-reaching radiance that spread over the sidewalk and conquered a few feet of the darkness beyond.
Into this thin patch of brightness, there rode a grey car, two-seated, long, slim, pointed for speed. The same rays of the window lamp sufficed to light up the features of the sole occupant of the car:—high cheek-bones, thin cheeks, and pale face, tall form.
"There he is," said Dr. McDonnell, enthusiastically; "there's our new member."
With a stride of power, the green-clad warrior entered the café, and saluted Dr. McDonnell.
"Ready for work," he said.
"I see you are," answered Dr. McDonnell. "Will you sit down and join us?"