So far so good.  I began to think about making another mistake and getting a second hut, but that evening Chaucer came sliding down over the steep turf, visibly annoyed.

“Where did you get this hut?”

“Found it.”

“On Ripilly wharf?”

“Certainly not.  I found it down there by the road and had it brought up here for safety.  If a lorry had run over it in the dark—­”

“Ah, cut it out,” he said.  “The hut is mine.  I found two odd sections in the last barge-load.  Any poacher who knew his job would burn the feathers when he cooked the bird.  You needn’t start to explain about your fool N.C.O., who made a mistake.  I keep that sort of N.C.O. myself. If I get an official inquiry about this hut I shall send back official information.”

“Right-o!  Then come in and have a drink, and don’t be official before you need.”

That’s where I was wrong.  I tried to enlist the blighter’s sympathy.  Showed him round camp, the view, the bathing—­everything.  When Simmonds came up from the river with a string of roach Chaucer admitted it was a truly bon billet.

Next day he called again with one of his subalterns, a creature called Gubson, who went down to the river to watch Simmonds fish.  When he had gone Chaucer told me he had a spare hut.

“Not one of these divisional huts, but a thing we knocked up ourselves.  We’ve nearly finished our job here, and if it’s any use to you you can have it.  But mind you, I know nothing about this other hut you’ve got here.  If you’re caught with that one your blood be on your own head.”

“You’re a Christian,” I told him, and, Gubson and Simmonds returning, the conference had a drink and adjourned.

Next day I found quite a squad of light-duty men, and sent ’em to dismantle and bring down Chaucer’s hut.  I admit they rather exceeded instructions, for they brought a lot of things that Chaucer had omitted to mention.  However, they said he was there when they took them, so I supposed it was all right.  Besides the hut they had two bell-tents, a big tarpaulin, some corrugated iron and expanded metal, some home-made chairs and tables, a water-tank and a field kitchen, with its wheels broken off—­a noble lot of loot it was.  They worked like beavers bringing it down and getting it in place, and when Chaucer drifted down again at the end of the week all my men were housed there as snug as you please.  Finally Gubson presented the camp with a punt he had salved in Sailly village—­and there we were, all the pleasures of the Riviera and none of the disreputable company.

We were so pleased with all they had done for us that we suggested they should stay the night and celebrate the occasion.  Chaucer said he would be delighted, if we would send to his batman and tell him to bring down his razor and toothbrush.  At midnight, when the batman arrived, Chaucer said it was time for bed.  And could we give his man a shake-down, please?  It was pretty dark, he said, and the fool might lose his way home.