She walked up the hill with swift decisive steps, without turning round.
“Tough luck, buddy,” said the M. P. “She's a good-looker. I'd like to have a half-hour with her myself.”
“Look here. I'm in the Sorbonne School Detachment in Paris, and I came down here without a pass. Is there anything I can do about it?”
“They'll fix you up, don't worry,” cried the M. P. shrilly. “You ain't a member of the General Staff in disguise, are ye? School Detachment! Gee, won't Bill Huggis laugh when he hears that? You pulled the best one yet, buddy.... But come along,” he added in a confidential tone. “If you come quiet I won't put the handcuffs on ye.”
“How do I know you're an M. P.?”
“You'll know soon enough.”
They turned down a narrow street between grey stucco walls leprous with moss and water stains.
At a chair inside the window of a small wine shop a man with a red M. P. badge sat smoking. He got up when he saw them pass and opened the door with one hand on his pistol holster.
“I got one bird, Bill,” said the man, shoving Andrews roughly in the door.
“Good for you, Handsome; is he quiet?”