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"Can't find him anywhere, sir," said the signaller. "Didn't you see him while you were there?" I asked the orderly who had been doing sentry. "No, sir. I saw no lights in that house where the office was, and there's no one there now." This was something unexpected, not to say perturbing. I turned to one of the cycle orderlies who stood by. "Go back and make a thorough search for Briercliffe.
A clay figger os big os a six months' barn, fashiont i' th' likeness o' Farmer Grimble o' Briercliffe lawnd, os died last month, war seen i' her cottage, an monny others besoide. Amongst 'em a moddle o' your lamented brother, Squoire Ruchot Assheton o' Downham, wi' t' yeod pood off, and th' 'eart pieret thro' an' thro' wi' pins and needles."
And I had been greatly cheered by the sudden appearance, mounted on a horse, of Briercliffe, the missing brigade clerk. He explained his absence. When one of the orderlies returned to Grandru, saying he couldn't find B Battery's waggon lines, the admirable Briercliffe had retorted that they must be found, and he went in quest of them himself.
Don't come back until you are satisfied he's not in the village. I'll wait here. You others, except one cyclist, go on and catch up the column." A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, half an hour! The orderly returned alone. "I can't find Briercliffe, sir. I've been into every house in Grandru. He's not there." I couldn't understand it.
The amazingly conscientious, thoroughly correct, highly efficient Briercliffe to be missing. "I can't wait any longer," I said, mounting my horse. "He's quite wide awake and should be all right. We'll get on." 4 A.M.: For the best part of a mile my groom and I had the moonlit road to ourselves.
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