‘My arse he will,’ answered the orderly sergeant. ‘Come with me.’ Major Norman’s office was at one end of a Nissen hut that stood amid a riot of bushes on the edge of a wood. The door of the office stood open when Dickie Crawford and the orderly sergeant reached it, and the office was empty.

‘’s funny,’ mused the orderly sergeant. ‘He was here a minute ago.’ He looked at Dickie in sudden surprise. ‘What you gogglin’ at like that?’

Dickie pointed in silence at the thickets.

‘ — me drunk!’ whispered the orderly sergeant in wonderment.

Between the faintly stirring leaves of the bushes they could discern the outline of a man on all fours, his khaki-clothed backside towards them. He raised his head a little, very cautiously, and they could see the gleaming, sleekly-brushed hair.

‘Strewth!’ exclaimed Dickie. ‘It’s ’im.’

The man in the bushes jerked round at the sound of Dickie’s voice. A bird flew whirring away.

Major Norman climbed to his feet and emerged from the thicket.

‘Bird-watching,’ he said without embarrassment. ‘A civilised occupation. I recommend it, Crawford.’

‘Yessir,’ said Dickie stiffly.

‘Beautiful creatures, birds,’ Major Norman went on pleasantly, ‘and quite free from human vices. For instance,’ he said mildly, ‘they don’t walk about the camp with fountain pens poking out of their pockets.’

‘Yessir,’ said Dickie, thrusting the offending pen out of sight.

‘Well,’ said Major Norman, ‘don’t let my little sallies upset you. Just relax and come inside.’

Dickie, who had been standing rigidly at attention, followed him into the hut. The major seated himself behind a small wooden table and leaned forward on his elbows, toying with the sweatband of his cap. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘how can we help you?’

‘Well, sir,’ said Dickie Crawford, ‘I’m in trouble. I wondered if I couldn’t ’ave a few days compassionate leave.’

‘What’s happened?’ asked the major gently. He picked up a pencil and began poking his pursed lips with it.

‘My girl’s gorn orf wiv anuvver geezer.’

‘H’m.’ The major nibbled the pencil thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry, Crawford. But that’s hardly a reason for giving a compassionate leave at a time like this, you know. Unfortunately it’s not the kind of thing the Army considers to be a disaster.’

‘We was engaged,’ volunteered Dickie. He had selected this story from among many others that had come to mind because it had seemed to him the one which could the least easily be disproved. Now he began to realise its limitations.

‘You haven’t been in before to ask for a marriage leave,’ the major pointed out.

‘No, sir,’ answered Dickie, ‘I was just goin’ to when I got ’er letter.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Where’s what?’

‘Her letter,’ said Major Norman patiently.