Submarine Mess, Bruges.
It is midnight, and as I write in my room at the top of the house the low rumble of the guns from the south-west vibrates faintly through the open window, for it is extraordinarily warm for the time of year, and I have flung back the curtains and risked the light shining.
We spent the night at Zeebrugge and came up to the docks here next day. We shall probably be in for a week, and I am on four days' "extended absence from the boat," which practically means that I can go where I like in the neighbourhood provided I am handy to a telephone.
After a short inward struggle I rang Zoe up on the telephone; fortunately I did not call first.
A man's voice answered, and for a moment I was dumbfounded. I guessed at once it was the Colonel, and I had counted so confidently on his being still away at the front.
For an instant I felt speechless, an impulse came to me to ring off without further ado, but I restrained myself, and then a fine idea came into my head.
"Who is that?" I said.
"Colonel Stein!" replied the voice, and my fears were confirmed, but my plan of campaign held good.
"I am speaking," I continued, "on behalf of Lieutenant Von Schenk----"