When I came near to the usual main street I saw the battalion marching in by a side road, coming back from a route march. I sent my gear ahead, and got down to see them pass. It was strangely pleasant. The drums of the little band were covered because of the wet, and only the bugles brayed harshly, but very cheerfully. Old Philpott was ahead of them, riding fatly on his mild black mare, and returned my salute quite pleasantly. You could see a lot of young recruits among the men, and there were many officers I had never seen, but the welcoming grins of the old men we had had from the beginning, mostly N.C.O.'s now, made up for that. Young Smith I saw, in command of C Company now, and Tarrant, our late Transport Officer, was squelching at the head of a platoon, obviously not liking it much. Then came D Company, and I looked eagerly for Harry. Stephenson I knew, in command (how young the company commanders were!), but there were only two other officers, and they both strange. The last of them tramped past, and I was left silent in the rain, foolishly disturbed.... Where was Harry? Ass--no doubt he is orderly officer, or away on a course. But I _was_ disturbed; and the thought came to me that if anything had happened to him I, too, should be lonely here, with none of the Old Crowd left. I walked on then, and came to the little flag of D Company headquarters flapping damply outside an estaminet. In the mess they greeted me very kindly and gave me tea--but there was still no Harry. But they all talked very fast, and the tea was good. 'And where's Penrose?' I asked at last. 'I haven't seen him yet?' I had spoken to Stephenson. He did not answer immediately; but he picked up his cup and drank, assiduously; then he kind of mumbled, very low and apologetic: 'He's in his billet--under close arrest.' 'Under arrest! My God, what for?' Stephenson began to drink again; he was a good fellow, who knew that Harry and I were friends; also he had known Harry in the Souchez days, and he did not like having to tell me this. But one of his young subalterns, a young pup just out, was less sensitive, and told me, brutally: 'Running away--cowardice in the face of--_et cetera_--have some more tea?' II Bit by bit I heard the whole miserable story--or rather that naked kernel of it which passed publicly for the whole story. I had to make my own footnotes, my own queries.