“You wrote me when you sent on,” imperceptible pause, “those letters, that you were transferring to the R.A. And of course we knew the moment you landed in France.”
“Who’s we?”
“G.H.Q.,” said Francis casually.
“My aunt, you are a swell. Why didn’t you write and tell me where you were? I haven’t heard from you for months.”
Francis explained that he had only just officially joined Intelligence, that his uniform had been bought a week since in Paris, that he was attached to the First Corps. . . .
“What have you been doing since March?” asked Peter.
“Oh, various jobs I’m not supposed to talk about. . . .”
“Then don’t talk about ’em, young man,” put in the Weasel.
“And why are you attached to the First Corps?”
“To interrogate prisoners after this new show.”