t without your fetching him."

Dalton stood still. His eyes were on the door of the church. Maitland
and Haddingly were gazing at it too. The other officers, gathered in a
group outside the mess tent, stood in silence, staring at the church. It
seemed as if hours passed. In fact, nearly half an hour went by before
the door of the church opened and the airman came out. He turned his
back on the camp and went towards his machine. Neither Dalton nor anyone
else made an attempt to overtake him. The noise of the engine was heard
again. The machine raced a few yards along the ground and then rose in
steep flight. It passed across the camp and sped westwards, its shape
sharply outlined for a minute against the light of the setting sun. Then
it disappeared.

Maitland took Haddingly by the arm and led him to his tent The two men
sat down together on the camp bedstead. Maitland opened Mallory's "Morte
d'Arthur," and read aloud:

"Then Sir Galahad came unto a mountain, where he found an old chapel,
and found there nobody, for all was desolate, and there he kneeled
before the altar and besought of God wholesome counsel."

"I suppose it was just that," said Haddingly.

Dalton put his head into the tent.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said. "I just wanted to ask the
padre something. Was that Sir Golliwog come to life again or just some
ordinary blighter like me suffering from nerve strain?"

Haddingly had no answer to give for a moment.

"He can't have really wanted to sit in that church for half an hour,"
said Dalton. "What the dickens would he do it_ for?_"

"He might have wanted to pray," said Haddingly.

Not even his profession justified the saying of such a thing as that
outside church. But every excuse must be made for him. He had been
soaked in Mallory for a fortnight Deserts, even when there are camps in
them, are queer places, liable to upset men's minds, and the conduct of
the airman was certainly peculiar.

"Of course, if you put it that way," said Dalton, "I've nothing more to
say. All the same, he might have come into the mess for a drink. I'm
not complaining of his doing anything he liked in the way of going
to church; but I don't see that a whisky and soda would have hurt him
afterwards. He must have wanted it."

IX ~~ A GUN-RUNNING EPISODE

Sam McAlister walked into my office yesterday and laid down a handful of
silver on my desk.

"There you are," he said, "and I am very much obliged to you