I spoke to the agent de police at some length, describing the incident in the cafe. I took the view that the lady was wrong in increasing the price so rapidly. The agent agreed gravely. I then pointed out that the Australian was a very large-sized man, and that in spite of his quietude he was a man in the habit of killing Germans. He also had a curious dislike of policemen.
“It appears to me,” I said, politely, “that for the sake of your health the other end of the street is better than this.”
The agent de police released his grip from the Australian's wrist and saluted me.
“Vous avez raison, monsieur. Je vous remercie. Ces Australiens sont vraiment formidables, n'est-ce pas?”
He disappeared through the crowd, who were smiling with a keen sense of understanding. Only the lady of the estaminet was unappeased.
“They are bandits, these Australians!” she said to the world about her.
The tall Australian shook hands with me in a comradely way.
“Thanks for your trouble,” he said. “It was the injustice I couldn't stick. I always pay the right price. I come from Australia.”
I watched him go slouching down the rue des Trois Cailloux, head above all the passers-by. He would be at Pozieres again next day.