"Oh, yes. But they won't give you a lift. The orders are dead strict against civilians riding in W.D. vehicles."
"It's the result of the articles in the papers about waste," said Frederick sympathetically. "But I don't suppose there would be any objection to your hanging on and running behind."
Wuffle looked round disconsolately. In the gloom the lighted windows of the tiny Hôtel de l'Univers blinked invitingly.
"I think I'll stop here for the night," he said, "and telephone for a car to fetch me to-morrow."
"Right-o!" said Percival. "And when it's thoroughly light you might—you might be able to find the dump. So long."
As they rumbled uncomfortably home on a fortuitous three-ton lorry, Percival looked round for applause.
"C'est bien fait, mon vieux," chuckled Binnie. "I'll bet the Wuffle won't go dump-hunting again in a hurry. And he won't be able to do any damage from that little estaminet for a day or two."
The well-advertised series of articles in The Daily Hooter commenced a few days later. The conspirators studied them diligently in gleeful anticipation of finding their contribution to journalistic enterprise. It came at the end, in a brief paragraph.
"When I had collected my material for this powerful indictment, etc., etc." (ran the article), "I met a party of irresponsible subalterns bent on the old, old army pastime of leg-pulling. For the sake of exercise and amusement I permitted them to conduct me on a wild-goose chase after an imaginary dump, which luckily led me to a sequestered little hotel where I was able to write my articles in peace and quietude. But to return to the main question. I unhesitatingly affirm..."