arance. Buses and taxis were running, and voluble knots of people
were recounting their experiences. I started off for Blenkiron's
bookshop, as the nearest harbour of refuge.

But in Piccadilly Circus I was stopped by a military policeman. He
asked my name and battalion, and I gave him them, while his suspicious
eye ran over my figure. I had no pack or rifle, and the crush in the
Tube station had not improved my appearance. I explained that I was
going back to France that evening, and he asked for my warrant. I fancy
my preoccupation made me nervous and I lied badly. I said I had left it
with my kit in the house of my married sister, but I fumbled in giving
the address. I could see that the fellow did not believe a word of it.

Just then up came an A.P.M. He was a pompous dug-out, very splendid in
his red tabs and probably bucked up at having just been under fire.
Anyhow he was out to walk in the strict path of duty.

'Tomkins!' he said. 'Tomkins! We've got some fellow of that name on our
records. Bring him along, Wilson.'

'But, sir,' I said, 'I must--I simply must meet my friend. It's urgent
business, and I assure you I'm all right. If you don't believe me, I'll
take a taxi and we'll go down to Scotland Yard and I'll stand by what
they say.'

His brow grew dark with wrath. 'What infernal nonsense is this?
Scotland Yard! What the devil has Scotland Yard to do with it? You're
an imposter. I can see it in your face. I'll have your depot rung up,
and you'll be in jail in a couple of hours. I know a deserter when I
see him. Bring him along, Wilson. You know what to do if he tries to
bolt.'

I had a momentary thought of breaking away, but decided that the odds
were too much against me. Fuming with impatience, I followed the A.P.M.
to his office on the first floor in a side street. The precious minutes
were slipping past; Ivery, now thoroughly warned, was making good his
escape; and I, the sole repository of a deadly secret, was tramping in
this absurd procession.

The A.P.M. issued his orders. He gave instructions that my depot should
be rung up, and he bade Wilson remove me to what he called the
guard-room. He sat down at his desk, and busied himself with a mass of
buff dockets.

In desperation I renewed my appeal. 'I implore you to telephone to Mr
Macgillivray at Scotland Yard. It's a matter of life and death, Sir.
You're taking a very big responsibility if you don't.'

I had hopelessly offended his brittle dig