"What a smell!" he says to the porter. "Is gas escaping somewhere?"
"No, sir," says the porter, pulling his black moustache.
He is very distrait and hardly gives the famous War-Correspondent a thought.
"It is gas!" persists the War-Correspondent. "There must be a leakage somewhere."
He opens the door.
A horrible whiff of burning petroleum and smoke blows in, and a Belgian soldier enters also.
"What's the smell?" asks the War-Correspondent.
"The Germans are dropping explosives on the city, trying to set fire to it," answers the Belgian.
"Good lor, I must have a look!" says the War-Correspondent. He goes out.
Two wounded officers come down the stairs behind me.