"Night walks," said the doctor, "are bad for people with injured legs and faces. As your medical adviser, I should advise you to remain in bed for the future." "I hope I shall be permitted to follow your advice, _Herr Doktor_." "That being so, perhaps you will tell us exactly where you went, and why you did it." Well knowing that with so many indications of an attempted escape anything but frankness would be futile, I admitted having tried to return to the British Army. "_So!_ And now, what do you expect?" "If I may presume on your kindness, I ask that I may stay here until sent away in the normal course of events. I hope you will let me remain in hospital on the understanding that I give my word of honour to be good so long as I am in Tul-Keran." "That will be difficult. I myself have no objection, and the word of honour is guarantee enough. But if the news of your escapade got beyond the hospital I should have to make a full report." The doctor learned from the corporal that, apart from the four of us present, the one person who knew the story was the night orderly, who could be trusted to keep quiet. After a low-voiced discussion with the priest he gave instructions that nobody else must be told. He then promised not to make a report, unless the news leaked out and his hand were forced thereby. I thanked him and withdrew. But the story did leak out. Either the orderly told it, or the Turkish patient who had seen me in the passage, after my return, formed his own conclusions and communicated them to other people. At any rate, several Turks came into the ward and discussed (according to the Syrian's whispered translations) my adventure of the early morning. One man even went so far as to say that I had gone out and signalled to the British aeroplanes. The Syrian was greatly concerned about whether anybody knew he had been privy to the attempt; but I was able to reassure him. Evidently the story became so widely known that the hospital authorities had to make their report. Late in the afternoon I was told to dress and collect my belongings, as the Turks were taking me from the hospital. Having obeyed, I was handed over to an escort of two Turkish soldiers with drawn bayonets. "Adieu," said the Syrian. "I shall pray for you, and for happier times." The doctor shook hands ceremoniously when I left; and the priest--affable once more--gave me a heavy stick to help support my thigh, saying that he hoped we should meet as friends after the war. Bareheaded in the searing sun (for my friends had forgotten to include a hat in my kit) I was led through a gaping crowd to the railroad station.