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still going; it was late then! She placed the watch carefully on a little shelf over the basin and, catching sight of herself in the mirror above it, leant forward and peered intently at her reflection. It was time she gave herself another application of the dye. She lifted a bony finger and touched the centre parting of her severely dressed hair. Tomorrow, or the next day, she must see to it.
    Before the war, thought Mademoiselle, you were a young woman. Yet now you are an old one. Old and ugly.
    She drew a long, quivering breath, and began to undress. It was well that she had been able to procure hot milk for the child. And what luck that the elderly Englishman should have offered her a sleeping powder, for to sleep well on trains was not always
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    possible. But tonight, thanks to the Brigadier, a sound night’s sleep could be guaranteed. , •.•:;>.;•..••… ŤŤp csj
    ‘Well here we are, almost back in Berlin!’
    Harry Marson yawned and pulled the blankets up about his chin: ‘I shall be quite glad to get back to some central heating again. That house of Uncle Ted’s is hellishly draughty - though I must admit that his port more than makes up for it!’
    Major Marson ruminated for a moment or two, but his wife remained silent, and presently he spoke again.
    ‘What did you make of that old bird’s story this evening? Queer, wasn’t it? I remember hearing about that chap Ridder when I was staying with Uncle Bill in Berlin before the war. I may even have met him. Odd coincidence about the Melvilles’ kid cousin, wasn’t it? If you read that in a book you’d say “too far-fetched”. Except that when one comes to think of it, the Brigadier has probably told that story to so many people that the odds against his eventually telling it to another army chap like Robert are not so high as you’d think.’
    There was still no sound from the lower berth.
    ‘A fortune in diamonds!’ mused Harry Marson. ‘No wonder the blighter decided to stick to them. Any man of sense would probably have felt like doing the same. I wish to God I could get my hands on a fortune! In fact just now I’d settle for a thousand quid, cash down. How the hell we’re going to Are you asleep, Eisa?’
    But Eisa Marson was not asleep. She lay quite still, staring into the darkness and wishing with all her heart that the train was taking her anywhere but to Berlin. If only she need not have come back! If only Harry had allowed her to stay behind in England. But he would not hear of it: ‘Not go back to Berlin? Don’t be silly, darling! No housework, no servant troubles, no rationing; lovely house and loving husband. What more could you want? Besides I can’t do without you - and anyway I can’t afford to keep you at home.’
    So here she was, with the train rushing remorselessly through
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    the night and every mile bringing her nearer and nearer to the ruined, fear-haunted, faction-torn capital of Germany.
    Eisa Marson, whose soft speaking voice with its slight broken accent so plainly proclaimed her foreign birth, turned on her pillow and wept for the safety of humdrum English towns with as passionate a longing as Stella had wept for Mallow: though her reasons for doing so were not entirely similar.
    Odd seeing George Brindley again after all these years, thought Colonel Leslie. Wonder if he recognized me? Probably not. It’s been a longish time. Just the same talkative ass. Sleeping pills! It used to be quinine. Never knew such a man for dosing himself. I wonder … He climbed cautiously up into the upper berth.
    Norah Leslie removed her hat, and taking off her gloves, frowned at the sight of their blackened palms and fingers. Continental trains were so dirty, and British ones almost worse. Perhaps if she gave them a quick wash now they would be dry before morning? The carriage was very hot and she could hang them near the pipes. She removed her coat and skirt and pressed the taps of the small fitted basin, wondering if her