“True; but what I am about to propose does not come by any conceivable stretch within the scope of a soldier’s duties. I shall perfectly understand if you decline. You will be acting as I should act myself—as any sane man would. I would not press you for worlds. If you wish it, I will not even make the proposal, but let you go here and now, and wish you good luck with your battalion. I do not wish to perplex a good soldier with impossible decisions.”
This piqued me and put me on my mettle.
“I am not going to run away before the guns fire. Let me hear what you propose.”
Sir Walter crossed to a cabinet, unlocked it with a key from his chain, and took a piece of paper from a drawer. It looked like an ordinary half-sheet of note-paper.
“I take it,” he said, “that your travels have not extended to the East.”
“No,” I said, “barring a shooting trip in East Africa.”
“Have you by any chance been following the present campaign there?”
“I’ve read the newspapers pretty regularly since I went to hospital. I’ve got some pals in the Mesopotamia show, and of course I’m keen to know what is going to happen at Gallipoli and Salonika. I gather that Egypt is pretty safe.”
“If you will give me your attention for ten minutes I will supplement your newspaper reading.”
Sir Walter lay back in an arm-chair and spoke to the ceiling. It was the best story, the clearest and the fullest, I had ever got of any bit of the war. He told me just how and why and when Turkey had left the rails. I heard about her grievances over our seizure of her ironclads, of the mischief the coming of the Goeben had wrought, of Enver and his precious Committee and the way they had got a cinch on the old Turk. When he had spoken for a bit, he began to question me.