“I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ turnips this mornin’ at ’alf-past seven on Mr. Hodge’s farm at Halvesham when one o’ these ’ere airyplanes come down among the swedes. I tells ’e to get clear o’ that, when the feller what gets out o’ the car ’e drahs a revowlver and ’e says, ‘You must ’company I—’” “Yes, yes,” interrupted the senior officer; “that’s all very good. Now tell me—where is Halvesham? What is the name of the local vicar? I’m sure you’d know that.” Old Sam rubbed his chin. “I sits under the Reverend David Pryce, Mister, and a good, God-fearin’ man he be. I took him a cookin’ o’ runner beans on’y yesterday. I works for Mr. Hodge, what owns Greenway Manor and ’as a stud-farm at Newmarket, they say.” “Charles Hodge?” asked the young officer. “Aye, Charlie Hodge. You write and ask un if he knows old Sam Gates.” The two officers looked at each other, and the older one looked at Sam more closely. “It’s very extraordinary,” he remarked. “Everybody knows Charlie Hodge,” added the young officer. It was at that moment that a wave of genius swept over old Sam. He put his hand to his head, and suddenly jerked out: “What’s more, I can tell ’ee where this yere Paul is. He’s actin’ a gardener in a convent at—” He puckered up his brows, fumbled with his hat, and then got out, “Mighteno.” The older officer gasped. “Mailleton-en-haut! Good God! what makes you say that, old man?” Sam tried to give an account of his experience and the things he had heard said by the German officers; but he was getting tired, and he broke off in the middle to say: “Ye haven’t a bite o’ somethin’ to eat, I suppose, Mister; or a glass o’ beer? I usually ’as my dinner at twelve o’clock.” Both the officers laughed, and the older said: “Get him some food, Bradshaw, and a bottle of beer from the mess. We’ll keep this old man here. He interests me.” While the younger man was doing this, the chief pressed a button and summoned another junior officer. “Gateshead,” he remarked, “ring up the G.H.Q. and instruct them to arrest the gardener in that convent at the top of the hill and then to report.” The officer saluted and went out, and in a few minutes a tray of hot food and a large bottle of beer were brought to the old man, and he was left alone in the corner of the room to negotiate this welcome compensation. And in the execution he did himself and his county credit. In the meanwhile the officers were very busy. People were coming and going and examining maps, and telephone bells were ringing furiously. They did not disturb old Sam’s gastric operations. He cleaned up the mess tins and finished the last drop of beer. The senior officer found time to offer him a cigarette, but he replied: “Thank ’ee kindly, sir, but I’d rather smoke my pipe.”