It seemed on the face of it a perfectly simple matter to find out where he was staying, but we spent several hours going from place to place without success. The long official envelope with “On His Majesty’s Service” on it proved an open sesame everywhere, and I was received with marked courtesy by all the staff officers I showed it to, and the envelope itself seemed to inspire respect, but not one of them could (or as I thought “would”) give me the information of the Commandant’s whereabouts. It struck me as being very strange all this mystery as it appeared. Well, after having spent two hours going from one staff building to another, we had to give it up as a bad job—it was evidently a very difficult proposition to present a letter to the “Military Commandant of Udine”—and the envelope was beginning to show signs of wear after being handled so much, so there was nothing for it but to have the letter always handy and chance coming across him sometime—in the meantime, if any questions were asked me as to the reason of my being in Udine I felt I had always the excuse of this document which I was waiting to hand personally to the “Military Commandant.” As it turned out I owed all my luck in remaining in Udine as long as I did to this undelivered letter in its official envelope. Whenever I was asked any awkward questions as to why I was there, out it would come, and the mere sight of it seemed to afford me protection. It was a veritable talisman. How its spell was eventually broken I will narrate in due course. To get out to the scene of operations without a permit appeared hopeless, for the moment; one realised it would take some time to work it, so the only thing to do was to chance it and to remain on in the hope of something turning up—that Udine was the place to stay in if one could was evident. I therefore decided not to budge till they turned me out, and I never had cause to regret my decision. My guide had only been given a few days holiday, so when he saw that there was no immediate chance of getting out to see anything of the fighting he told me he thought he had better return to Venice. This, of course, meant my remaining on alone—a somewhat dreary prospect, since I knew no one, and, as I said, could scarcely make myself understood, but there was no help for it. Before he left I managed, with his assistance, to find a better room in a small hotel in the main street (curiously enough the hotel was named “The Tower of London”), and arranged to have my luggage sent from Venice. It would be difficult to describe my feelings when I found myself alone outside the station after my guide had gone. I felt literally stranded, but my lucky star was in the ascendant, and in a few minutes a little incident occurred that made me feel that I might get used to Udine after all.