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so maudlin that he had been put to bed immediately. Then he had discovered that his revolver and some of his equipment was missing. Knowing the men with whom he had been drinking, he had gone to see them the next night, being assured that none of them had seen the missing equipment. Scared of reporting without it, he had tried again on the following night – the night of the shooting affray.
    â€˜I—I only had a bitter, sir,’ he exclaimed, as he saw the apparently sceptical expression on Rollison’s face. ‘Just one, that’s all! It—it knocked me over; I went right out, drunk as a lord. I’m not used to it, honestly I’m not, but I can’t understand one—one bitter.’
    â€˜Nor will anyone else,’ said Rollison uncompromisingly.
    He felt that it was reasonably likely that the worry of the older Jamesons was simply that the youth had overstayed his leave and lost his equipment; he could not yet be certain of the youngster himself. He could understand, too, that they would look on deserting as a cardinal crime, could imagine the panic into which the youth’s carousals had sent the household. But he was not interested in that, as such: he was interested in Jameson’s gun and equipment.
    â€˜But it’s true,’ protested Jameson. ‘I remember that clearly, and then—and then I don’t remember anything else until I was in the water.’
    â€˜What water?’
    â€˜Why, the canal, sir.’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Tom was walking home, he must have been walking home, and fell in. That sobered him; he’s not a lad who’s ever taken much strong drink and he climbed out and came home. He was going to report, sir, I swear it! He wasn’t going to waste no more time looking for his gun or anything, he was going back to his unit as—as soon as he’d got his clothes dried. We had them hanging in the kitchen but mother took them down when we saw you.’
    â€˜They’re all bundled up in a cupboard now,’ declared “mother” pathetically.
    Rollison looked from one to the other. Young Jameson’s manner impressed him favourably; the story of the lost gun and equipment was plausible enough to explain his first reluctance to return to his unit. To overstay leave was bad enough but to admit losing equipment would earn double punishment. It was a trivial business, even though it would appear enormous in the eyes of this family; but the point at issue was how it affected the shooting in Chiswick. It was too much of a coincidence to believe that the car had been placed near the cottage quite independently of Jameson’s return.
    He decided it was time for the more sympathetic approach and he took out his cigarette-case again. Jameson looked startled when offered a cigarette but said ‘No thank you, sir,’ stiffly, as if expecting a rebuke if he accepted. The old man followed the son’s example. Rollison lit a cigarette, leaned against an easy chair and spoke quietly: ‘I want you to listen carefully, Jameson. Quite accidentally, I think’ – the mendacity in the circumstances was justifiable – ‘you’ve become mixed up in something more than over-staying your leave. Have you told me the whole story without any frills or any lies?’
    â€˜It’s God’s truth, sir!’
    â€˜I hope so,’ said Rollison slowly. ‘The trouble I’ve mentioned is about a car that was stolen last night and found near here. Probably you’ve seen it.’ The old man nodded and the woman gasped. ‘I don’t know a great deal about it but I can tell you that it was driven by a Commando.’ Rollison skidded over thin ice expertly and went on: ‘So before you report to your unit, Jameson, I want you to come with me and see the police in London.’
    â€˜But—’ began Mrs. Jameson aghast.
    â€˜The police!’ exclaimed the old man.
    It was