PROLOGUE XV 



Germany. A dead horse lies beneath it in 

 a ditch. 



Ahead of us are lights ! The main road 

 — military police. Here we must stop to let 

 the ** heavies " pass. They lumber on into 

 the night. Beyond them a bayonet flashes ; 

 grey-coated figures are pasnng — marching 

 westward. The murmur of the guns grows 

 faint — then dies away. 



The road races past us like a moving tape, 

 unfolding endless lines of poplars, the gleam 

 of whitewash on a tvayside farm, a church- 

 crowned hamlet with its echoing street, a 

 hasty glint on its mysterious windows ; then 

 pollard-trees again. Our way runs on to 

 dip, through gloom, to leafy solitudes; mile 

 upon mile of forest — no human habitation 

 here; soundless too, save for our engine's 

 measured throb. The dark woods deepen; 

 only the car's edge is cut clear by our head- 

 lamps' glow ; above, the tree-tops black 

 against the sky. The rest is vague, mysterious, 



b 



