“You must let me into this, Spencer,” he said, “what’s old Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?”
Spencer’s manner became a trifle formal.
“Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners’ of war camp in Germany, Major,” he said, “we’ve been trying to get hold of him for days! He’s the talk of London!”
Desmond turned like a shot.
“Maurice!” he cried, “’pon my soul, I’m going to have an interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won’t do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men about matters of this kind. And if you’re a good fellow, Spencer, you won’t even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you’ll only get him into trouble!”
The little man looked rather rueful.
“Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way,” he said.
“... And you’ll use your influence to make those other fellows with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the bar and we’ll have a drink for old times’ sake!”
Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers alone in the American Bar.
“I haven’t seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer,” said Desmond over his second cocktail. “Seeing him reminds me how astonishing it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn’t it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thing I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I’m damned if he doesn’t turn up here!”