Oh, the _name_ of the ship is the _Dresden_. Time passes. And presently, just as he is going, I suggest that it would be as well for me to know what time the _Dresden_ sails. This detail either he never knew or has forgotten. And there is something about it, about the nature of stated times, as about all things conventional and mechanical and precise, that peculiarly exasperates him. He waves both hands in a fury of nescience and cries, "Ask me another!" By a sort of mutual consent we assume that the _Dresden_ will sail with Dr. Beavis at ten o'clock. After all, it is a very likely hour. More time passes. Finally we go into the street that runs along the Digue. And there we find Dr. Beavis sitting in a motor-car. We approach him. I thank him for his kindness in giving me transport. I say I'm sure his ship will be crowded with his own people, but that I don't in the least mind standing in the stoke-hole, if _he_ doesn't mind taking me over. He looks at me with a dreamy benevolence mixed with amazement. He would take me over with pleasure if he knew how he was to get away himself. "But," I say to the Commandant, "I thought you had arranged with Dr. Beavis to take me on the _Dresden_." The Commandant says nothing. And Dr. Beavis smiles again. A smile of melancholy knowledge. "The _Dresden_," he says, "sailed two hours ago." So it is decided that I am to proceed with the Ambulance to Dunkirk, thence by train to Boulogne, thence to Folkestone. It sounds so simple that I wonder why we didn't think of it before. But it was not by any means so simple as it sounded. First of all we had to collect ourselves. Then we had to collect Dr. Hanson's luggage. Dr. Hanson was one of Mrs. St. Clair Stobart's women surgeons, and she had left her luggage for Miss ---- to carry from Ostend to England. There was a yellow tin box and a suit-case. Dr. Hanson's best clothes and her cases of surgical instruments were in the suit-case and all the things she didn't particularly care about in the tin box. Or else the best clothes and the surgical instruments were in the tin box, and the things she didn't particularly care about in the suit-case. As we were certainly going to take both boxes, it didn't seem to matter much which way round it was. Then there was Mr. Foster's green canvas kit-bag to be taken to Folkestone and sent to him at the Victoria Hospital there. And there was a British Red Cross lady and her luggage--but we didn't know anything about the lady and her luggage yet. We found them at the _Kursaal_ Hospital, where some of our ambulances were waiting.