"Oh, my God!" he said, and every soul in the mess rose to his
feet. Then the Lushkar captain did a deed for which he ought to
have been given the Victoria Cross - distinguished gallantry in a
fight against overwhelming curiosity. He picked up his team with
his eyes as the hostess picks up the ladies at the opportune
moment, and pausing only by the colonel's chair to say, "This
isn't our affair, you know, sir," led them into the verandah and
the gardens. Hira Singh was the last to go, and he looked at
Dirkovitch. But Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy-paradise of
his own. His lips moved without sound and he was studying the
coffin on the ceiling.
"White - white all over," said Basset-Holmer, the adjutant. "What
a pernicious renegade he must be! I wonder where he came from?"
The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and "Who are you?"
said he.
There was no answer. The man stared round the mess-room and smiled
in the colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a
woman than a man till "Boot and saddle" was sounded, repeated the
question in a voice that would have drawn confidences from a
geyser. The man only smiled. Dirkovitch at the far end of the
table slid gently from his chair to the floor.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117