It was raining in torrents and a bit chilly. I got a taxi and Sir Walter directed the driver to the Waldorf. He was unwilling to disturb his club as he had not wired for a room. The Waldorf was full and we went on to the Cecil. Not a room in the place, so on to the Metropole. He himself jumped out here a little impatiently, but was received, as he said, somewhat coldly by the office staff who, after keeping him waiting, spoke to him almost with astonishment that he should have the temerity to ask for accommodation. At the Victoria, the same story. We then tried a small hotel in one of the side streets off Charing Cross--Craven Street, I think. They had nothing. Yes, if he did not mind there was a small room through the office and connected with it. He took it gladly. It was small. But as he washed he carried on a conversation with the proprietress, a woman of friendly manners. We could get nothing to eat there, and he had had no dinner. He looked very tired and a bit faraway. We went, through the driving rain, to a near-by restaurant. He chose something, but when it came, although it looked very good, he complained after eating a little that it was not nice. It was so unlike him. However, he ordered some soft roes on toast and we sat on till near midnight whilst he talked of his tour. He was full of it. Full of stories and impressions. I asked him if he had made notes of the more interesting things that had struck him. He had not. He had them all in his head. He told how at the aerodrome at Amman an Arab Sheikh had appeared with his followers, all heavily armed with service rifles and bristling with ammunition. Sir Walter and the Sheikh were introduced and sat together awhile at a corner of the aerodrome. The Sheikh occasionally stroking Sir Walter’s cheek apparently as a mark of friendliness. The followers formed a large circle round them and squatted. This went on for a bit and then the conversation being rather one-sided Sir Walter got bored and walked away to sit at another part of the aerodrome. He was deep in thought. He looked up and there silently squatting around again were the Arabs with the sun gleaming on their rifles. He talked a bit with the Sheikh and then tiring got up and sought the officer in charge of the aerodrome. “What do you do when you want to get rid of these fellows?” he asked. “Do?” was the reply. “What do we do? Why, we take a big stick and tell them to hop it.” The big stick was produced, the order was given, the rifles were quietly slung and the Arabs went. They were like children, said Sir Walter, and knew what you meant when you told them that you didn’t want to play with them any more.