The effect of this statement upon the little man was, in its way, extraordinary. For a moment he stood with his mouth open, the glass shaking between his fingers, a queer, set expression in his pale face. Then his lips parted and he began to laugh. It was a mirth so obviously ill-timed, so absolutely unaccountable, that they all turned and stared at him. There was no doubt whatever that for some reason or other the news which he had just heard had excited this strange little person almost hysterically. His lips grew further apart, the whole of his face was puckered up in little creases. Then, just as suddenly as his extraordinary impulse towards mirth had come, it seemed to pass away. He drained his glass, set it down on the edge of the counter, and, turning around, walked slowly out of the place. The remarks that followed him were not altogether inaudible and they were distinctly uncomplimentary. 'All I could do to keep my toe off the little devil!' the Canadian exclaimed angrily. 'I'd like to take him back with me out into the trenches for a few days!' A young man who had been talking to an English officer on the outskirts of the group, turned around. He was a tall, well-set-up young man, with a face rather grave for his years and a mouth a little over-firm. He, too, had watched the exit of the stranger half in indignation, half in contempt. 'Who was that extraordinary little man?' he inquired. No one seemed to know. The waiter paused with a tray full of glasses. 'He's staying in the hotel--arrived yesterday from America, sir,' he announced. 'I don't know his name, but I think he's a little queer in his head.' The young man set down his glass upon the counter. 'A person,' he remarked, 'who can laugh at such a ghastly thing, must be either very queer in his head indeed, or----' 'Or what, Ambrose?' his companion asked. 'I don't know,' the other replied thoughtfully. 'Well, _au revoir_, you fellows! I'm going in to lunch. Sure you won't come with me, Reggie?' 'Sorry, I have to be back in ten minutes,' the other replied. 'See you to-morrow.' Ambrose Lavendale strolled out of the room, crossed the smoke-room and descended into the restaurant. At a table in a remote corner, seated by himself, the little man who had been guilty of such a breach of good-feeling was studying the menu with a waiter by his side. Lavendale watched him for a moment curiously. Then he turned to speak to one of the _maîtres d'hôtel_, a short, dark man with a closely-cropped black moustache. 'I shan't want my usual table this morning, Jules,' he announced. 'I am going to sit in that corner.' He indicated a vacant table close to the little man whom he had been watching. The _maîtres d'hôtel_ bowed and ushered him towards it. 'Just as you like, Mr. Lavendale,' he said. 'It isn't often you care about this side of the room, though.'