Derek glanced at his watch.
"Where do you wish to make for, sir?" he enquired.
"Anywhere you jolly well like!" rejoined the Brigadier-General boisterously. "S'long as it's Blighty the rest doesn't matter much. You're used to night flying?"
"Yes, sir," replied Derek. "All being well, I hope to set you ashore at Sableridge depot at or about eight o'clock to-morrow morning."
CHAPTER XXX
The Choice
At a quarter to eight on the following morning the officers of the Sableridge depot forgathered, according to custom, in the ante-room of the mess before proceeding to breakfast.
Some were busy with their correspondence, for the morning post had just arrived. Others were studiously scanning the official notices on the board; while the majority were engaged in conversation on various topics.
"Hasn't that young blighter Daventry telegraphed?" enquired the Major. "Wonder what stunt he's on? In any case he ought to have landed before dark last evening."