“In the hold, I expect!” answered Desmond. “The porter at Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it on the other side. And, oh damn it!—I’ve got a hundred cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the journey!”
“Well, take some of my cigars,” said the skipper hospitably, “for your traps’ll have to go to France this trip, Major. There’s no time to get ’em up now. I’ll pass the word to the Military Landing Officer over there about ’em, if you like. He’ll take care of ’em for you. Now will you come with me?”
Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
Desmond took the hint and with a hasty “Good night” to the friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither they were bound.
The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half an hour’s time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond’s host vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete. Here Desmond’s host took leave of him.
“There should be a car waiting for you up there,” he said.
There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind, a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs and touched his cap.