The Infantry Brigadier, arriving about mid-day, declared to his Brigade-Major:

“My dear fellow, the whole countryside looks like Hampstead Heath. Have some one go out and clean it up, please. I really can’t have men wandering about all over the skyline.”

The Brigade Major, strolling across the room, said: “I say, Bunny, I wish you’d take a peep round and see what we’re to do about these fellows wandering about on the skyline.”

Bunny disappeared and did not return till after lunch.

Nobody in all that farm seemed in the least degree excited about anything. Work was not done—it proceeded. Stark and Peter, returning to the outer air, watched the procedure. By now, their own communication orderlies, servants and telephonists had arrived. It began to rain, vaguely, unpleasantly. ...

At one minute to two, a limousine, mud-spattered from roof to axle, tore down the road; pulled up slithering before the gateway. From the car, sprang a tall aquiline eye-glassed man; who said, “Hello, Stark. Sorry to be late. Look here”; drew a very dirty map from his pocket; and swept one finger over a blue semi-circle of it. Stark, drawing an identical map from his pocket, copied the semi-circle; asked: “Any particular instructions?”

“No.” The aquiline one was obviously working under extreme pressure. “You’ll get those from Trench later. This isn’t as much fun as pig-sticking, is it?” He leapt back into his car; whirled off down the road.

Two minutes afterwards Peter—note-book on knee—was writing from orders Stark’s dictation....