where Uncle Arthur lay buried in an unmarked 1917 grave —
(Uncle Arthur, whom he couldn't remember, although he had always pretended that he did—Uncle Arthur who had evidently been a trial and a tribulation to the family in peacetime, but who was always remembered now with proper reverence as One Who had made the Supreme dummy4
Sacrifice . . .)
Arras—he should have thought of it in the first place!
'Arras,' he said decisively.
Wimpy looked at him. 'Arras?'
That's where we'll head for.' The name carried its direction with it: it was vaguely to the north, or possibly slightly to the east of north. And not so very many miles either, the lie of some of which—and possibly the most dangerous miles, too—
they already knew.
'Why Arras?' asked Wimpy. 'We'll have to cross the German line of advance again, Harry. You realize that?'
That's where our chaps will be,' said Bastable.
Wimpy considered the proposition briefly. 'Rather than the French, you mean?'
The only French soldiers Bastable had seen had been running away with the refugees, without their rifles. That was obviously an inadequate basis for judging an army several millions strong, but he still had greater confidence in the smaller BEF. And, in any case, this wasn't a moment for indecisiveness, with which Wimpy would surely argue.
'Yes. If we go south it'll be no better.'
For a moment Wimpy stared at him, and then nodded. 'Fair enough, old boy. There are Jerries that way—but there are Jerries every which way, so it hardly matters . . . And I suppose there is a chance they'll steer clear of Arras for a bit—
you're right there, Harry, possibly.'
dummy4
That last hadn't figured in Bastable's calculations, but he hastily added it to them. 'A good chance,' he said.
'Right-o! Arras it is, then!' The force of his own logic convinced Wimpy. 'Just give me ten minutes, or quarter of an hour say . . . then we'll hit the road again—'
'What?' The delay, after they'd come to a decision—and against Wimpy's own advice, took Bastable by surprise.
'Why?'
'Oh . . .' Wimpy shook his head from side to side. '.. I thought I might take one quick recce down to the bridge before we got out—or as far as battalion headquarters, anyway, in the square down there... I mean, we haven't seen much of the place yet, and there might be a clue down there —just a quick recce, old boy. You can stay here and hold the fort, and if anything happens here you can blow your whistle—and if I find anything, I'll blow mine... And I'll come back via the Marne and see if I can pick up a map of some sort, eh?' He looked at Bastable sidelong, almost slyly. 'You can stay here,'
he repeated. 'Just five or ten minutes—and then Arras.'
It was almost as though the fellow could read his mind, thought Bastable irritably, knowing that he didn't want to see any more of Colembert, and didn't want to stay in the place another minute longer than necessary. But these, nevertheless, were Wimpy's terms for agreeing to go north, he knew that also.
'Very well.' He surrendered ungracefully. 'But not more than dummy4
fifteen minutes at the most.'
It was only after Wimpy had disappeared into the ruins that he remembered he had no way of telling the passage of time, since his watch was immovably fixed at ten to three. But then he knew that Wimpy would take whatever time he wanted, regardless of his promise, the fellow was like that—
unreliable.
It also occurred to him then that one of the dead fusiliers might have a watch, which he might take for himself as a replacement. Yet, he decided, as not many of the men had wrist-watches that was hardly a possibility worth exploring.
The corpse-robbing he had done already was enough to prove to him that he could do it when he had to, but he had no stomach for doing more of it.
He contented himself with the helmet of the nearest of them, which made him feel more soldierly, even though it had a dent in it.
He wished he had gone with Wimpy, even though that didn't make sense. If there was anyching to find, Wimpy would find it. And if there was any danger —
'
He swung round quickly towards the voice.
A woman's voice.
'M'sieur!' The woman stood in a gap in the ruins, which had once been a side-street, and was now three- quarters choked dummy4
with fallen debris.
'Madame?'
