The encumbered and busy roads, and the towns crammed with vehicles and vibrating with military activity, produce upon you such an overwhelming impression of a vast and complex organisation that your thought rushes instantly to the supreme controller of that organisation, the man ultimately responsible for all of it.  He does not make himself invisible.  It becomes known that he will see you at a certain hour.  You arrive a few minutes before that hour.  The building is spacious, and its Gallic aspect is intensified by the pure Anglo-Saxonism of its terrific inhabitants.  In a large outer office you are presented to the various brains of the Expeditionary Force, all members of the General Staff—­famous names among them, celebrities, specialists, illustrious with long renown.  They walk in and out, and they sit smoking and chatting, as if none of them was anybody in particular.  And as a fact, you find it a little difficult to appreciate them at their lawful worth, because you are aware that in the next room, behind those double doors, is he at whose nod the greatest among them tremble.

“The Commander-in-Chief will see you.”  You go forward, and I defy you not to be daunted.

The inner chamber has been a drawing-room.  It still is partially a drawing-room.  The silk panels on the walls have remained, and in one corner a grand piano lingers.  In the middle is a plain table bearing a map on a huge scale.  There he is, the legendary figure.  You at last have proof that he exists.  He comes towards the door to meet you.  A thick-set man, not tall, with small hands and feet, and finger-nails full of character.  He has a short white moustache, and very light-coloured eyes set in a ruddy complexion.  His chin is noticeable.  He is not a bit dandiacal.  He speaks quietly and grimly and reflectively.  He is a preoccupied man.  He walks a little to and fro, pausing between his short, sparse sentences.  When he talks of the Germans he has a way of settling his head and neck with a slight defiant shake well between his shoulders.  I have seen the gesture in experienced boxers and in men of business when openly or implicitly challenged.  It is just as if he had said:  “Wait a bit!  I shall get even with that lot—­and let no one imagine the contrary!” From the personality of the man there emanates all the time a pugnacious and fierce doggedness.  After he has formally welcomed you into the meshes of his intimidating organisation, and made a few general observations, he says, in a new tone:  “Well------,” and you depart.  And as you pass out of the building the thought in your mind is: