did so, and
again apologising for their abrupt appearance, they bade us "good
night."

I hurriedly bade the driver start off, and away we went. He evidently
had not got over his nervousness, for, after going about three-quarters
of a mile, we ran into a large, partially filled shell-hole, burying the
front wheels above the axle. To save myself from a second dive I
clutched hold of the mitrailleuse.

This was a position indeed! Scooping away as much sand as possible from
the front wheels, we put on full power, and tried to back the car out of
it. But as the rear wheels were unable to grip in the sand it would not
budge.

While there the Germans must have seen our light, for suddenly a
star-shell shot up from their position, illuminating the ground for a
great distance. I swiftly pinched the tube of our headlight, so putting
it out, then dropped full length on the sand. I observed my companion
had done the same.

We lay there for about ten minutes, not knowing what to expect, but
luckily nothing happened. It was obvious that we could not move the car
without assistance, so shouldering my apparatus we started to walk the
remaining distance. Twice we were held up by sentries, but by giving the
password we got through. Enquiring for the headquarters of Captain ----,
we were directed to a ruined house which had been destroyed by German
shell-fire. "Mon Capitaine is in the cellar, monsieur."

Thinking that it would be a better introduction if I personally
delivered the message to the Captain, I asked my chauffeur to let me do
so. Asking the sentry at the door to take me to his Captain, we passed
down some dozen steps and into a comfortably furnished cellar. Sitting
round a little table were seven officers. I asked for Captain ----.

"He is not here, monsieur," said one. "Is it urgent?"

"I do not know," I replied. I was trying to form another reply in
French, when an officer asked me in English if he could be of any
service. I told him that an officer had given me a message to deliver on
my journey here, but owing to an accident to the car I had had to walk.
Taking the letter, he said he would send a messenger to the Captain with
it.

"You must be hungry, monsieur. Will you share a snack with us?" Gladly
accepting their hospitality, I sat down with them. "Are you from
London?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Do you know it?"

"Yes, yes," he replied. "I was for three years there. But are you
_militaire_?" he enquired.