He mixed
Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
they were bound.
The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
and touched his cap.
"Major Okewood?" he asked.
"That's my name!" said Desmond.
"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
along the white, winding road.
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