‘Yes, but you know, Bourne, you get the same feeling between officers, and between officers and men. Look at Captain Malet and the men, for instance.’

‘I don’t know about officers, sir,’ said Bourne, suddenly reticent. ‘The men think a great deal of Captain Malet. I am only talking about my own experience in the ranks. It is a hard life, but it has its compensations, the other men have been awfully decent to me; as they say, we all muck in together. You know, Padre, I am becoming demoralized. I begin to look on all officers, N.C.O.s, the military police, and brass-hats, as the natural enemies of deserving men like myself. Captain Malet is not an exception, he comes down on us occasionally, and disturbs the even tenor of our existence.’

‘I don’t doubt you deserve it. Were you fired from the orderly-room?’

‘Yes. I should think that is the right term to use, sir. I was taken into the orderly-room on the understanding that I should be there for ten days, while Grace was undergoing medical treatment. I have completed my ten days, and Grace is still swinging the lead. The post is now vacant. It was not really my milieu. Between ourselves, Padre, there’s not enough work in the orderly-room for three men, let alone four. Three are necessary when we are in the line; but they are now doing the sensible thing, and running it with two, until they can pick up a properly qualified clerk.’

‘Well, I don’t think you ought to stay as you are. I don’t think it is the right place for you. You might be more useful in some other way. However, I have got to do some work now. Come in and see me again some night, though I think we shall be on the move again very soon. Do you know that man Miller?’

‘Miller, who deserted just before the July show, sir? I don’t know him. I know of him.’

‘Well, he has been arrested down at Rouen. How he ever got so far I can’t imagine. He found a woman there who sheltered him until his money was finished, and then handed him over to the police. I can’t help wishing either that he had got clean away, or that something had happened to him. It’s a beastly business. Good night.’

‘I am awfully sorry that you should be troubled about it, sir; it won’t be very pleasant for any of us. I hope I haven’t kept you, and I am really very much obliged about the cheque. Good night, sir.’

‘Good night, Bourne; and look me up again some time. Good night.’

As he hurried down the twilit street, Bourne thought it certainly seemed more than likely that a firing-party would be detailed for the purpose of ending the career of Lance-Corporal Miller; and on the whole he was more sorry for the firing-party than for the prisoner. He had always thought that Miller should have spelt his name Müller, because he had a high square head like a Hun. It was a beastly business all right. When Miller disappeared just before the attack, many of the men said he must have gone over to the Hun lines and given himself up to the enemy. They were bitter and summary in their judgment on him. The fact that he had deserted his commanding-officer, which would be the phrase used to describe his offence on the charge-sheet, was as nothing compared to the fact that he had deserted them. They were to go through it while he saved his skin. It was about as bad as it could be, and if one were to ask any man who had been through that spell of fighting what ought to be done in the case of Miller, there could only have been one answer. Shoot the bugger. But if that same man were detailed as one of the firing-party, his feelings would be modified considerably.