“It certainly mayn’t,” said Charlotte.  “They may commandeer our cars and give them to McClane.”

“They can’t,” said Gwinnie.  “We’re volunteers.”

“They can do anything they choose.  Military necessity.”

Gwinnie was thoughtful.

“John,” she said, “can I have one of the cars to-morrow afternoon?”

“What for?”

“Never mind.  Can I?”

“You can have both the damned things if you like; they’re no good to me.”

The next afternoon they looked on while Gwinnie, who wore a look of great wisdom and mystery, slipped her car out of the yard into a side street and headed for the town.  She came back at tea-time, bright-eyed and faintly flushed.

“You’ll find we shall be sent out to-morrow.”

“Oh, shall we!” John said.

“Yes.  I’ve worked it for you.”

“You?”

“Me.  They’ve seen my car.”

“Who have?”

“The whole lot of them.  General Staff.  First of all I paraded it all round the blessed town.  Then I turned into the Place d’Armes.  I kept it standing two solid hours outside the Hotel de la Poste where the blooming brass hats all hang out.  In five minutes it collected a small crowd.  First it was only refugees and war correspondents.  Then the Colonel came out and stuck his head in at the back.  He got quite excited when he saw we could take five stretcher cases.

“I showed him our tyres and the electric light, and I ran the stretchers in and out for him.  He’d never seen them with wheels before....  He said it was ’magnifique’...  The old bird wanted to take me into the hotel and stand me tea.”

“Didn’t you let him?”

“No.  I said I had to stay with my car.  And I took jolly good care to let him know it hadn’t been out yet.”

“Whatever made you think of it?”

“I don’t know.  It just sort of came to me.”

Next afternoon John had orders to go to Berlaere to fetch wounded.

VIII

At the turn of the road they heard the guns:  a solemn Boom—­Boom coming up out of hushed spaces; they saw white puffs of smoke rising in the blue sky.  The French guns somewhere back of them.  The German guns in front southwards beyond the river.

Charlotte looked at John; he was brilliantly happy.  They smiled at each other as if they said “Now it’s beginning.”

Outside the village of Berlaere they were held up by two sentries with rifles. (Thrilling, that.) Their Belgian guide leaned out and whispered the password; John showed their passports and they slipped through.

Where the road turned on their left into the street they saw a group of soldiers standing at the door of a house.  Three of them, a Belgian lieutenant and two non-commissioned officers, advanced hurriedly and stopped the car.  The lieutenant forbade them to go on.