“The surgeon was a plucky young fellow in his way. Remembering how pretty the V.A.D. looked when she cried, he pressed Binny’s case on the C.O. The old gentleman said he might have done something two hours sooner; but the hospital returns had gone to the D.D.M.S. and couldn’t possibly be got back again or altered. In the end, after a lot more talk about regulations and discipline, he said he’d telephone to the D.D.M.S. office and see if anything could be done. It is greatly to his credit that he did telephone, explaining the case as well as he could over a faulty wire. The staff colonel in the office was perfectly civil, but said that the returns had been forwarded by a motor dispatch rider to G.H.Q. and could not be recalled by any possibility. The C.O., who seems to have begun to realize the horrible position of Binny, asked advice as to what he ought to do. The staff colonel said he’d never come across a case of the kind before, but it seemed plain to him that Binny was dead, that is to say, officially dead. The Chaplain’s Department, he thought, might be able to do something for a man after he was dead. If not nobody could. “That,” said O’Byrne with a smile, “is where I came in. The C.O. sent for me at once.” “I suppose,” said Mackintosh, “that you straightened the whole thing out without difficulty?” Mackintosh is always irritated at a suggestion that anyone connected with the medical profession can possibly make a mistake. When irritated he is apt to attempt a kind of heavy sarcasm which O’Byrne sucks in with obvious delight. “No,” said the padre, “I couldn’t straighten it out. But I did the best I could. I went to see poor Binny. He was in the mortuary by that time. I found him sitting up in his coffin crying like a child. I comforted him as well as I could.” “Poor devil,” said Mackintosh. “Not that I believe a word of this story. It couldn’t have happened. But you may as well go on and tell us what you did. Sang hymns to him, I suppose.” “Not at all,” said the padre. “I got him something to eat and a couple of blankets. That mortuary is a cold place, and, though you mightn’t think it, a coffin is draughty. Next morning I buried him.” “God bless me!” said the A.P.M. explosively. “Do you mean to say you buried a man you knew to be alive?” “Couldn’t help it,” said the padre. “It was in orders, matter of discipline, you know. Can’t go back on discipline, can you, Mackintosh? I got through it as quickly as I decently could. Then I let Binny out. The graves in that cemetery are never filled in for an hour or two after the coffins are let down, so I had lots of time. Jolly glad poor Binny was to get out. He said he’d shivered all over when he heard ‘The Last Post.’ I had a suit of clothes for him; of course, civilian clothes.”