I charged through the booking-office and found my man about to enter a big grey motor-car.
“Archie,” I cried and beat him on the shoulders.
He turned round sharply. “What the devil—! Who are you?” And then recognition crept into his face and he gave a joyous shout. “My holy aunt! The General disguised as Charlie Chaplin! Can I drive you anywhere, sir?”
CHAPTER IX
I Take the Wings of a Dove
“Drive me somewhere to breakfast, Archie,” I said, “for I’m perishing hungry.”
He and I got into the tonneau, and the driver swung us out of the station road up a long incline of hill. Sir Archie had been one of my subalterns in the old Lennox Highlanders, and had left us before the Somme to join the Flying Corps. I had heard that he had got his wings and had done well before Arras, and was now training pilots at home. He had been a light-hearted youth, who had endured a good deal of rough-tonguing from me for his sins of omission. But it was the casual class of lad I was looking for now.
I saw him steal amused glances at my appearance.
“Been seein’ a bit of life, sir?” he inquired respectfully.
“I’m being hunted by the police,” I said.
“Dirty dogs! But don’t worry, sir; we’ll get you off all right. I’ve been in the same fix myself. You can lie snug in my little log hut, for that old image Gibbons won’t blab. Or, tell you what, I’ve got an aunt who lives near here and she’s a bit of a sportsman. You can hide in her moated grange till the bobbies get tired.”