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 brow and 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, and 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 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 was 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 country 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 gastronomic 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, but I’d rather smoke my pipe.” The colonel smiled, and said: “Oh, all right. Smoke away.” He lighted up, and the fumes of the shag permeated the room. Some one opened another window, and the young officer who had addressed him at first suddenly looked at him and exclaimed: “Innocent, by God! You couldn’t get shag like that anywhere but in Norfolk.” It must have been over an hour later when another officer entered, and saluted. “Message from G. H. Q., sir,” he said. “Well?” “They have arrested the gardener at the convent of St. Eloise, and they have every reason to believe that he is the notorious Paul Jouperts.” The colonel stood up, and his eyes beamed. He came over to old Sam and shook his hand. “Mr. Gates,” he said, “you are an old brick. You will probably hear more of this. You have probably been the means of delivering something very useful into our hands. Your own honor is vindicated. A loving government will probably award you five shillings or a Victoria Cross, or something of that sort. In the meantime, what can I do for you?” Old Sam scratched his chin. “Oi want to get back ’ome,” he said. “Well, even that might be arranged.” “Oi want to get back ’ome in toime for tea.” “What time do you have tea?”