Suddenly Bourne wondered what he himself would do, if he were detailed for the job. He tried to put that involuntary question he had asked himself aside, and he found it was impossible: he was one of those men who must try to cross a bridge before coming to it. It would be his duty; his conscience would not be too nice when there was a collective responsibility, but these justifications seemed unreal. The interval between the actual cowardice of Miller, and the suppressed fear which even brave men felt before a battle, seemed rather a short one, at first sight; but after all, the others went into action; if they broke down under the test, at least they had tried, and one might have some sympathy for them; others broke momentarily and recovered again, like the two men whom Sergeant-Major Glasspool had brought to their senses. It might even be necessary to shoot fugitives for the sake of preventing panic. All these cases were in a different class, and might be considered with sympathy. If he were on the firing-party he would have to make the best of it; he took the same chance as the rest of them, none of whom would care for the job of an executioner.

He had forgotten to see Evans: but it would have been too late even if he had remembered, for Evans would be occupied in attending to the wants of the Major. He found Shem and Martlow at the corner, but no Sergeant Tozer, they had not been able to find him; so he told them to wait where they were, while he went into a small restaurant, where he had eaten once before. Presently he emerged again with a girl of about seventeen; and, to the astonishment of Shem and Martlow, turned with her away from them, up the street. He was walking quite affectionately, his hand on her arm.

‘It’s a bugger, ain’t it?’ exclaimed Martlow. ‘Wish I knew some bloody French.’

‘Well, I’m not going to wait here for him,’ said Shem a little sulkily. ‘Let’s go into the estaminet and get a drink.’

They waited until he was out of sight round the bend in the street, and noticed that an older woman came to the restaurant door, and looked after the couple a little anxiously.

‘’e ’asn’t been the same, not since ’e ’as been in the orderly-room,’ said Martlow. ‘All right, let’s go in an’ get a drink.’

They went into the estaminet and drank some vin rouge and grenadine, while they told each other what they really thought about Bourne, and the defects in his character, defects which had recently become more marked. In about twenty minutes Bourne reappeared, smiling, and asked if they were ready.

‘Where ’ave you been?’ they both asked him in one indignant breath.

‘What is the matter with you?’ said Bourne, surprised. ‘I have been to get Sergeant Tozer, of course. He is waiting in the restaurant.’

‘We thought you had cleared off with the girl,’ said Shem, a little awkwardly; ‘and left us on our own.’