"Oh, my God!" he half groaned, half laughed. "I see that even my death-bed is going to be haunted by departmental imbecility. Who on earth sent you to Nish from Salonika?"
"Colonel Bullingham-Jones, to whom I reported in Salonika, knew nothing about me and advised me to come on here as soon as possible."
"Officious ass!" Hazlewood muttered. "Why didn't you go back when you found I wasn't here?" he added to his secretary.
"There was no way of getting back, Captain Hazlewood. I believe that the enemy has cut the line."
"I'm sorry you've had all this trouble for nothing," he said. "However, you and Miss Scarlett must settle between you how to get away. You'd better hang on to one of the Red Cross units."
"I'm afraid I may have to leave my typewriter behind," said Miss Potberry. "Have I your permission?"
"You have," he said, smiling with his eyes through the glaze of the drug.
"You couldn't give me a written authorization?" asked Miss Potberry. "Being government property—"
"No, I can only give you verbal instructions. Both my arms have been shot away, or as nearly shot away as doesn't make it possible to write."