Before the driver could hand over the promised guerdon his benefactor settled matters by lifting him easily and gently into the seat. Derek, feeling sick and giddy with the pain of his broken arm, took his seat beside the driver, while the Tommy, slinging his bundle across his shoulders, ambled off into the darkness. To Derek the journey was a nightmare. Racked with pain, hungry, thirsty, and dead tired, he was hardly conscious of the jolting, swaying vehicle, of the crump of heavy shells that were constantly searching the lines of communication, of the numerous halts owing to the congestion of traffic. Whether it was five miles, or fifty, he had not the remotest idea. All he did was to wedge the shoulder of his unwounded arm into the angle formed by the tilt and the front of the tender, and trust that he would not be flung from his seat by the terrific bumps as the battle-scarred vehicle literally bounded over the uneven road. He was practically unconscious when deft arms assisted him from the car. He could hear voices sounding dim and far-away. Then he was faintly aware that he was in an underground retreat of vast size that smelt of iodine and ether; a lot of--to him--unnecessary man-handling, a struggle for breath, and then merciful oblivion. Upon recovering consciousness Derek found himself at a base hospital. His arm had been set in splints, while his forehead was swathed in surgical bandages. It was the second stage of his journey to Blighty. Three days later he was placed on board a hospital ship at Boulogne. His arm was making very satisfactory progress, and he was able to walk up the gangway unassisted; but, shortly after arriving on the other side, he made his first acquaintance with hospital red tape. A short train journey brought him to Minterton Station, the nearest place by rail to Tollerby Military Hospital. Greatly to Derek's surprise he found a nurse, several orderlies, and an ambulance waiting for him. "But I can walk quite all right," protested the patient. "No doubt," was the reply, "but you must go in the ambulance; it's routine." Nor did "routine" end there, for on arriving at the hospital Daventry was peremptorily ordered to go to bed at five in the evening. "It's routine," explained the nurse. "The doctor will have to take your temperature." "Surely he can do that without sending me to bed," said Derek resentfully. The nurse shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't frame the regulations," she replied. "I'm afraid there's no help for it; to bed you must go." Followed a not altogether congenial fortnight. The compound fracture healed rapidly; no complications ensued; yet Derek had to exist under restraint, and subjected to the too rigorous rules and regulations of the hospital.