“For camouflage, of course. He was camouflagin’ an air-raid. When the Margetts piled out of their place into the street, he prob’ly attended to the glasshouse, because that would be Margetts’ chief means o’ business. After that--I think so, because otherwise I don’t see where all those extra cattle came from that we found in the vegetable piece--he must have walked off an’ rounded up all the butcher’s beasts in the next medder, an’ driven ’em there to help the horses. And when he’d finished everything he’d set out to do, I’ll lay my life an’ kit he curled up like a bloomin’ wombat not fifty yards away from the whole flamin’ show--an’ let us run round him. An’ when he’d had his sleep out, he went up to Roehampton Monday mornin’ by some train that he’d decided upon in his own mind weeks an’ weeks before.” “Did he know all the trains then?” said Pole. “Ask me another. I only know that if he wanted to get from any place to another without bein’ noticed, he did it.” “And the bombs? He got ’em from you, of course,” Pole went on. “What do _you_ think? He was an hour in the park watchin’ me instruct, sittin’, as I remember, in the bomb-proof by the dud-hole, in his overcoat. He got ’em all right. He took neither more nor less than he wanted; an’ I’ve told you what he did with ’em--one--two--_an’_ three.” “’Ever see him afterwards?” said Orton. “Yes. ’Saw him at Brighton when I went down there with the missus, not a month after he’d been broken in to his Roehampton leg. You know how the boys used to sit all along Brighton front in their blues, an’ jump every time the coal was bein’ delivered to the hotels behind them? I barged into him opposite the Old Ship, an’ I told him about our air-raid. I told him how Margetts had gone off his rocker an’ walked about starin’ at the sky an’ holdin’ reprisal-meetin’s all by himself; an’ how old Mr. Vigors had bought in what he’d left--tho’ of course I said what _was_ left--o’ Margetts’ business; an’ how well my swim-hole for the ducks was doin’. It didn’t interest him. He didn’t want to come over to stay with us any more, either. We were a long, long way back in his past. You could see that. He wanted to get back with his new leg, to his own God-forsaken sheep-walk an’ his black fellers in Queensland. I expect he’s done it now, an’ no one has noticed him. But, by Gord! He _did_ leak a little at the end. He did that much! When we was waitin’ for the tram to the station, I said how grateful I was to Fritz for moppin’ up Margetts an’ makin’ our swim-hole all in one night. Mrs. B. seconded the motion. We couldn’t have done less. Well, then Hickmot said, speakin’ in his queer way, as if English words were all new to him: ‘Ah, go on an’ bail up in Hell,’ he says. ‘Bert was my friend.’ That was all. I’ve given it you just as it happened, word for word. _I_’d hate to have an Australian have it in for _me_ for anything I’d done to _his_ friend. Mark _you_, I don’t say there’s anything _wrong_