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"Well, the 257th is in three places: at bastion 14; at the Saint Benoit barracks; and at Fort Vieux which are you bound for, Corporal?" "I don't know I've no preference," murmured Corporal Vinson-Fandor. The two men stood staring at each other in the rain. Despite the chill and melancholy dawn, with its darkly reddening skies, Fandor felt he was on the very verge of bursting into wild laughter.
Under the flame of a gas-jet struggling against the onslaughts of the wind, Fandor caught sight of the honest face of a constable enveloped in a thick hooded coat. He eyed Fandor. "Excuse me," said Corporal Vinson-Fandor, rolling his r's, in imitation of a rustic fresh from the country, "but could you tell me where I shall find the 257th of the line?"
"Let us see your route instructions," quoth the constable. Corporal Vinson-Fandor showed his paper. "That's it!" cried the constable triumphantly. "You are down to report yourself at the Saint Benoit barracks. You're in luck, my lad! It's only fifty yards or so from here!... Go down the road, and you will see the barrack wall on the left. The entrance is in the middle."
Thus our adventurous Vinson-Fandor lay shivering in the night train on the point of drawing up at Verdun. Having saved the wretched Vinson from suicide, Fandor had made him promise to leave France and await developments, whilst Fandor, posing as Vinson, studied at close quarters the spies who had drawn the miserable corporal into their net.
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