“Yes, I’ll come,” said Peter—­“if I can, that is.”  He looked inquiringly at Arnold.

“Oh, your time is more or less your own,” he replied—­“at least, it is our side of the house.  Are you C.G. or P.C.?”

“Good God, padre!” said the Australian, getting up too, “what in the world do you mean?”

“Chaplain-General’s Department or Principal Chaplain’s Department, Church of England or Nonconformist.  And it’s sixpence a swear in this mess.”  Arnold held out a hand.

Donovan caught his friend by the arm.  “Come on out of it,” he said.  “You won’t get back in time if you don’t.  The padre’s a good sort; you needn’t mind him.  So long everybody.  Keep Tuesday clear, Graham.  I’ll call for you.”

“Well, I’d better fix you up, Graham,” said Arnold.  “For my sins I’m mess secretary, and as the president’s out and likely to be, I’ll find a place for you.”

He led Peter into the passage, and consulted a board on the wall.  “I’d like to put you next me, but I can’t,” he said.  “Both sides occupied.  Wait a minute.  No. 10 Pennell, and No. 11’s free.  How would you like that?  Pennell,” he called through the open door, “what’s the next room to yours like?  Light all right?”

“Quite decent,” said Pennell, coming to the door.  “Going to put him there, padre?  Let’s go and see.”  Then the three went off together down the passage.

The little room was bare, except for a table under the window, Arnold opened it, and Peter saw he looked out over the sea.  Pennell switched on the light and found it working correctly, and then sauntered across the couple of yards or so of the cubicle’s width to look at the remains of some coloured pictures pasted on the wooden partition.

“Last man’s made a little collection from La Vie Parisienne for you, padre,” he said, “Not a very bright selection, either.  You’ll have to cover them up, or it’ll never do to bring your A.C.G. or A.P.C., or whatever he is, in here.  What a life!” he added, regarding them.  “They are a queer people, the French....  Well, is this going to do?”

Graham glanced at Arnold, “Very well,” he said, “if it’s all right for me to have it.”

“Quite all right,” said Arnold.  “Remember, Pennell is next door left, so keep him in order.  Next door right is the English Channel, more or less.  Now, what about your traps?”

“I left them outside the orderly-room,” said Peter, “except for some that a porter was to bring up.  Perhaps they’ll be here by now.  I’ve got a stretcher and so on.”

“I’ll go and see,” said Pennell, “and I’ll put my man on to get you straight, as you haven’t a batman yet.”  And he strolled off.

“Come to my room a minute,” said Arnold, and Peter followed him.

Arnold’s room was littered with stuff.  The table was spread with mess accounts, and the corners of the little place were stacked up with a gramophone, hymn-books, lantern-slides, footballs, boxing-gloves, and such-like.  The chairs were both littered, but Arnold cleared one by the simple expedient of piling all its contents on the other, and motioned his visitor to sit down.  “Have a pipe?” he asked, holding out his pouch.