Okewood of the Secret Service | Page 5

are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with hot water,
get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and jump in: Then, if
my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put on dress clothes, and
whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's maitre d'hotel here) to a
conference, then I'm going to eat the best dinner that this pub can
provide. Then..."
Strangwise interrupted him.
"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on me and a
show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are you, so we'll
hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here 7.30, and Julien shall
come up to your room so this you can order the dinner. Is it a go?"
"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and you
shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualty list into the
Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious- looking gentry want?"
The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking party
with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?

What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another five years?
Have you come to interview me?"
The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your friend we
want..."
"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went on
manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise, Tommy
Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but, you
know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War Office... It's
on account of the other fellows, you know..."
Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he--turned to Spencer.
"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old Maurice been
up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?"
Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him for
days! He's the talk of London!"
Desmond turned like a shot.
"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an interesting
evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of fellow to do a thing
like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't do... fellows are never
allowed to talk to the newspaper men about matters of this kind. And if
you're a good fellow, Spencer, you won't even say that you have seen
Strangwise here... you'll only get him into trouble!"

The little man looked rather rueful.
"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows with you
drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the bar and we'll
haven a drink for old times' sake!"
Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations to his
colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in
his mission for presently he joined the two officers alone in the
American Bar.
"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing it is
the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached to the
Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we
lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't it, Maurice?
Then he goes back to his battery and the, next thing I hear of him is that
he is missing. And then I'm damned if he doesn't turn up here!"
Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over him Martini.
"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way, "though,
honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed in
to the rescue.
"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We are
going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not elevated!"
"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice. "Have

you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and they're doing
wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go and