"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.