“This,” and threw the papers on the table.
It amused him to watch the change in the other’s face from purely official politeness to perfectly genuine determination to keep out of it.
“Well, Dormer, you’ve heard of System D?”
He had to think whether it was Swedish gymnastics or a patent medicine.
“It means ‘Debrouillez vous,’ or ‘Don’t get mixed up with it.’ That is my advice to you. In any case I shall leave it alone. It is a matter of discipline purely.”
“Quite so.” Dormer did not care whether the sarcasm was obvious. “But I have received orders to go and see your Chief at Army Head-quarters, and to take you with me. I suppose you don’t mind going. It’ll be a ride.”
“I shall be delighted. I will go and tell my servant to have my horse round. I will introduce you to Colonel Lepage. He is a man of excellent family.”
“I thought you would,” said Dormer to himself.
Accordingly, they rode together. The Frenchman rode with style, being bound to show that he was of the class of officer who could ride, a sharp demarcation in his army. Dormer rode as he did everything else. He had learned it as part of his training, without enthusiasm, knowing that a motor-byke was a far better way of getting about. But he was careful of a horse as of anything else. They arrived at Flan. It was another little stone-built village. The only difference he could see between it and Louches, which they had just left, was that it stood on the top of a hill, the other along the bottom of a valley.
Its present temporary occupants, however, he could soon see to be a vastly different category. Every little house was placarded with the signs or marks of the offices or messes it contained. Very-well-groomed orderlies and signallers strolled or waited. Big cars and impeccable riding horses were being held or standing. They found the French Mission, got their horses held (instead of turning off the petrol, and kicking down a stand, thought Dormer) and entered.