He brought his fist down on the table, turned on his heel without saluting and went out. The adjutant and the colour-sergeant looked at each other, as though they thought this kind of behaviour was not quite nice, and then there was a hurried consultation. There was never any doubt that Captain Malet would be as good as his word, and the outcome of this incident was that two cooks were left behind to make tea for the whole battalion. On the following day the M.O. saw the commanding officer in the orderly-room, and said the men did not have enough rest: they should not be expected to parade all day and to work all night as well. He put the matter very quietly, but Major Blessington treated him in an off-hand way.

‘Very well, sir, if any man reports sick to me I shall excuse him duty,’ said the M.O.; and he saluted, leaving Major Blessington to the contemplation of his finger-nails.

Nobody had much sympathy for the adjutant; but he was bound by the nature of his office to be the mere reflection and echo of the commanding-officer, and with all his faults and defects of manner he was doing his best to master his job. His duties were often unpleasant. A couple of days later he sent for Mr Clinton, who so far had not gone up the line once since they had been in this sector. The adjutant had to tell him that he would not accept any further excuses, and that he had been detailed to take up a party that night. Mr Clinton took what amounted to a telling-off very well, and the adjutant had said what he had to say, quite definitely, but in a friendly and reasonable way. There was nothing in the interview at all, it was a mere matter of routine; but as Mr Clinton went out, Bourne noticed an acid smile on the colour-sergeant’s face, and he experienced a feeling of humiliation in himself. Clinton was such a good fellow; he had been through some of the worst shows on the Somme, and he had never spared himself; and there was that swine grinning at him.

He heard the working-party come back in the small hours of the morning, and as usual there were slips to be left on the table, people came in and went out again, and the only light was from the moon shining through the windows. They woke the lance-corporal, and eventually he sat up, as another man entered, and Bourne heard a whispered conversation.

‘They got Mr Clinton all right. One of them sausages came over and blew most of ’is guts out. No, ’e’s not dead, they gave ’im morphia, and took ’im away on a stretcher. Well, if ’e’s not dead yet, ’e pretty soon will be.’

‘Who’s that?’ said Corporal Reynolds, sitting up.

‘Mr Clinton, Corporal; ’is number’s up all right. It fair made me sick to see ’im. ’e was conscious, too. ’e said ’e knew ’e was goin’ to get it up ’ere. ’e knew it.’