"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
salaams to the General!".
They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
hurried off to his room.
Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
buttoned the flap.
Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
link with home.
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