"But you don't know the country."
Gys turned to the little Belgian.
"Can't you find us a driver?" he asked. "We want a steady, competent man to run our ambulance."
"Where are you going?" asked Maurie.
"To the firing line."
"Good. I will drive you myself."
"You? Do you understand a car?"
"I am an expert, monsieur."
"A waiter in a restaurant?"
"Pah! That was five years ago. I will show you. I can drive any car ever made—and I know every inch of the way."