In 1918 I was photographic officer of a B. E. squadron. We flew off the same aerodrome with a Camel Squadron, close enough
to Amiens to hear the shells after Cambrai fell that spring. During that [illegible] I had been experimenting with a <camera> new sort of camera
to be synchronized with the engine like a machine gun, and sometimes in the afternoon, when my people and the Camel people were both
out, I would go on to the Camel hangars and talk with the gunnery sergeant.

One afternoon we were sitting on two petrol tins in the door of a hangar when we saw Sartoris come to the door of the mess. He didn't come
out. He just stuck his head out the door and looked both ways, with an air a little furtive and quite intent. "Watch him, now," the sergeant
said. "He's looking for the dog."

"The dog?"