Some day someone will write the epic of the Straits of Dover, and it will be worth the reading.
The moment they had set foot on shore they were consumed by a terrific impatience to reach their journey's end. But at last the hospital train slowed up at Charing Cross, and their taxi passed between the double crowd which every day waited to see the arrival of the wounded.
"Can you believe it, old chap?" said Bob, as they whirled through the heavy summer foliage of Regent's Park and came to a halt.
"I've passed beyond that stage when anything surprises me, Den," laughed his brother. "I believe if I woke up some morning and found myself on the top of St. Paul's I should simply look upon it as an observation post, and proceed accordingly."
He broke off as the glass doors opened and a well-known figure came out on to the steps, and the next moment Mrs. Dashwood was in the arms of her two soldier sons.
Their arrival had been witnessed from the window of the schoolroom, and the new governess was powerless to repress the joyful yell or to check the stampede as her young charges tore down the stairs.
"I've got something for you in my haversack, Billy," laughed Dennis, producing a German helmet minus the spike; and what with buttons and bits of shells, when the small fry retired to resume their study of French irregular verbs it is to be feared the verbs were even more irregular than usual.
The talk of the elders naturally turned on the Von Dussels, and Mrs. Dashwood listened with bated breath to the account of their various meetings with the German spy.
"I suppose you've seen nothing more of Madame Ottilie of the big eyes?" laughed Bob.
"I am certain that I passed her at the Piccadilly Tube station two days ago," said Mrs. Dashwood. "But she has dyed her hair red. I am convinced it was the woman, and she knew that I recognised her. Oh, it is a shame that these people are allowed to remain in our midst with their wonderful system of transmitting intelligence."