As
the car felt its way through the ghostly town, Barry was only vaguely
conscious in the darkness of its ghostly skeletonlike ruins. Fifteen
minutes brought them to the Menin gate.
"Sounds rather hot out there," remarked the driver. "Well, Fritzie,
I guess we won't join your party this time. We prefer to wait, if you
don't mind, really."
He ran the car into the lee of the ramparts, by the side of the gateway,
waited there half an hour or so, until the "Evening Hate" was past; then
onward again to the Menin Mill.
They lifted the blanket covering the sandbagged entrance, passed through
a dark corridor and came into a cellar, lit by lanterns, swinging from
the roof, and by candles everywhere upon ledges or upon improvised
candlesticks.
No sooner had they come into the light, than Barry saw across the room
his friend, Dr. Gregg, his coat off, and his shirtsleeves rolled to his
elbows.
"Hello, Dunbar," said the doctor, coming forward. "I guess I won't shake
hands just now. Sit down.
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