he booking-office and found my man about to enter a
big grey motor-car.

'Archie,' I cried and beat him on the shoulders.

He turned round sharply. 'What the devil--! Who are you?' And then
recognition crept into his face and he gave a joyous shout. 'My holy
aunt! The General disguised as Charlie Chaplin! Can I drive you
anywhere, sir?'

CHAPTER NINE

I Take the Wings of a Dove

'Drive me somewhere to breakfast, Archie,' I said, 'for I'm perishing
hungry.'

He and I got into the tonneau, and the driver swung us out of the
station road up a long incline of hill. Sir Archie had been one of my
subalterns in the old Lennox Highlanders, and had left us before the
Somme to join the Flying Corps. I had heard that he had got his wings
and had done well before Arras, and was now training pilots at home. He
had been a light-hearted youth, who had endured a good deal of
rough-tonguing from me for his sins of omission. But it was the casual
class of lad I was looking for now.

I saw him steal amused glances at my appearance.

'Been seein' a bit of life, sir?' he inquired respectfully.

'I'm being hunted by the police,' I said.

'Dirty dogs! But don't worry, sir; we'll get you off all right. I've
been in the same fix myself. You can lie snug in my little log hut, for
that old image Gibbons won't blab. Or, tell you what, I've got an aunt
who lives near here and she's a bit of a sportsman. You can hide in her
moated grange till the bobbies get tired.'

I think it was Archie's calm acceptance of my position as natural and
becoming that restored my good temper. He was far too well bred to ask
what crime I had committed, and I didn't propose to enlighten him much.
But as we swung up the moorland road I let him know that I was serving
the Government, but that it was necessary that I should appear to be
unauthenticated and that therefore I must dodge the police. He whistled
his appreciation.

'Gad, that's a deep game. Sort of camouflage? Speaking from my
experience it is easy to overdo that kind of stunt. When I was at
Misieux the French started out to camouflage the caravans where they
keep their pigeons, and they did it so damned well that the poor little
birds couldn't hit 'em off, and spent the night out.'

We entered the white gates of a big aerodrome, skirted a forest of
tents and huts, and drew up at a shanty on the far confines of the
place. The hour was half past four, and the world was still asleep.
Archie n