A bright fire was burning in the open stove.
Immediately above, pinned to the mantelpiece and fluttering in the draught, hung Cockerell's manifesto upon the subject of non-combatants. He could recognise his own handwriting across the room. The Major saw it too.
"Hallo, what's that hanging up, I wonder?" he exclaimed. "A memorandum for me, I expect; probably from my old friend 'Dados.'[1] Let us get a little more light."
[Footnote 1: D.A.D.O.S. Deputy Assistant Director of Ordnance Stores.]
He crossed to the window and drew up the blind. Cockerell moved too. When the Major turned round, his guest was standing by the stove, his face scarlet through its grime.
"I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Cockerell, "but that notice—memorandum—of yours has dropped into the fire."
"If it came from Dados," replied the Major, "thank you very much!"
"I can't tell you, sir," added Cockerell humbly, "what a fool I feel."
But the apology referred to an entirely different matter.