Dormer looked at the collection of huts, with the obvious pathways between, the obvious, inevitable collection of traffic, lorries and limbers, motor-cycles and horses, that accumulated round any Head-quarters. He wondered how long it would take the Bosche to discover it in some air-photo and bomb it all to blazes. Inside Q. office, in spite of two big stoves in the tiny box of a place, it was so cold that every one breathed clouds of steam, and the three officers, and the clerks, sat in their coats. “Look here, Dormer!”--the Colonel sounded as though he had a personal grievance--“just look what I’ve got from the army.” It was an official memorandum, emanating from Army Head-quarters and duly passed through the Corps to whom they had belonged, and by Corps to the Division, inquiring what results had been arrived at in the Vanderlynden affair, and whether it could not be reported to the Minister of War that the matter had reached a satisfactory conclusion. “I thought you settled all that, while we were at Louches?” “Well, sir, I went to see them at Army Head-quarters and explained, or tried to.” “You don’t seem to have done any good at all. In fact it looks as though you and Dendrecourt had a nice morning ride for nothing.” “I couldn’t get a word in. It suited somebody’s politics to blackguard us just then, and I left it at that. It didn’t seem any use arguing, sir.” “Well, this must be stopped somehow. We shall have the French War Minister taking the matter up with Whitehall, directly, and a nice figure we shall all cut. I’ve known men sent to Salonika or Mespot, as company commanders, for less than this.” “Very good, sir. What shall I do?” “Get on with it. Find out who did the beastly damage, and straf him. Straf somebody, anyhow, and bring the remains here in a bag. We can show it to Corps, and they can write a sermon on the efficiency of the Adjutant-General’s Department.” “Yessir. If you refer to the correspondence you will see that the name of the unit is mentioned.” Dormer stood perfectly still, while his superior officer turned over the closely written, printed or typed sheets. His face was carefully veiled in official blankness. He had an idea. “Well, here you are,” the Colonel was saying, “469 Trench Mortar Battery. You’ll have to go and see ’em. You ought to have done so long before!” Dormer could not help adding, maliciously: “Wouldn’t it be sufficient if I were to send ’em a chit, sir?” “No, it wouldn’t. We’ve had quite enough of this procrastination. It’ll land us all in a nice hole, if we’re not careful. You go and see them and insist on getting to the bottom of it.” “Yes, sir. The order of battle will give their position.” “I’ll see to that. I’ll have it looked up and let you know in the morning.” “Yes, sir.” He went back to his hut, delighted.