After I had dozed for a time, he reappeared and insisted on rubbing some burnt cork well into my skin under the eyes and on my cheeks, and also giving my hands and the rest of my face a lighter treatment with the same medium.
“You look far too well-fed and clean to pass muster here. There’s very little soap left now; and most of us don’t shave. Must make you look the part.”
He handed me two .45 Colt pistols and a couple of loaded spare magazines.
“Shove these extra cartridges into a handy pocket as well. The Colts are loaded and there’s an extra cartridge in the breech of each. That gives you eighteen shots without reloading; and sixteen more when you snick in the fresh magazines. You know how to do it? Pull down the safety catches. If you have to shoot, shoot at once; and shoot in any case of doubt. Don’t stop to argue.”
A motorcar was waiting for us with two men in the front seats. The glass of the windscreen bore a small square of paper with a red cross printed on the white ground; and I saw that one of the sidelight glasses had been painted a peculiar colour. My guide and I climbed into the back seats and the car moved off. When we passed out of the aerodrome I observed that the entrance was defended by machine-guns; and a large flag of some coloured bunting was flown on a short staff. As it waved in the air, I caught the letters “Plague” on it.
“To keep off visitors,” said my guide. “By the way, my name’s Glendyne. Oh, by Jove, I’ve forgotten something important.”
He took out of the door-pocket a couple of armlets with the Red Cross on them and fastened one on my left arm, putting the other one on himself. I gathered that they formed part of his disguise.
It was night now. The sky was clear except for some clouds on the horizon and the full moon was up, so that we hardly needed the headlights to see our way. Again I noticed the peculiar red glow which I had seen from the aeroplane; but now, being nearer, I saw flickerings in it. There were no artificial lights, either of gas or electricity, in the streets through which we passed. Very occasionally I saw human forms moving in the distance; but they were too far off for me to distinguish what sort of person was abroad. In the main, the figures which I espied were reclining on the ground, some singly, others in groups; and for a time I did not realise that these were corpses.
We soon diverged from the main road and drove through a series of by-streets in which I lost my sense of direction until at last I discovered that we were passing the old Cavalry Barracks in Albany Street.
“Halt!”
The car drew up suddenly and in the glare of our headlights I saw a group of men carrying rifles and fixed bayonets; bandoliers were slung across their shoulders, but otherwise there was no sign of uniform.
“Where’s your permit? … Doctor’s car, is it? We’ve been taken in by that once before. Never again, thank you. Out with that permit if you have it, or it will be the worse for you.”
The armed group covered us with their rifles while Glendyne searched in his pocket. At last he produced a paper which the leader of the patrol examined.
“Oh, it’s you, Glendyne? Sorry to trouble you, but we can’t help it. A medical car came through the other night and played Old Harry with a patrol at Park Square; so we have to be careful, you see. I think it was some of Johansen’s little lot who had stolen a Red Cross car. Stephen got them with a bomb at Hanover Gate later in the evening and there wasn’t enough left to be sure who they were. Why they can’t leave this district alone beats me. They have most of London left to rollic in; and yet they must come here where no one wants them. By the way, where are you going?”
“Leaving the car at Wood’s Garage. Going down to the Circus on foot after that, I think; probably via Euston, though.”
“All right. I’ll telephone down. Sanderson’s patrol is out there in Portland Place and he might shoot you by accident. I’ll get him to look out for you on your way back.”
“Thanks. Very good of you, I’m sure.”
Our car ran forward again to the foot of Albany Street, where we turned in to a large public garage.
“What was that patrol?” I asked Glendyne.
“Local Vigilance Committee. Some districts have them. Trying to keep out the scum and looters.”
“But what about this being a medical car?”
“I am a medical. Was an asylum doctor before Nordenholt picked me out for this job. Medical cars can go anywhere even now; but we can do better on foot for the particular work you want tonight.”
He seemed to be a man of few words; but I had been struck by the empty state of the garage and wished to know where the usual multitude of cars had gone.
“Most owners took their machines away in the rush out of London. Any cars
