“They would have come to seek him in the house, even if he had ridden straight back from the Hospital Auvert to Dar-Debibagh.”
“Yes.”
“Then he did save your life by deserting,” said Gerard. And, on the other hand, he asked himself was there any duty not discharged because Paul did desert? Was there any mistake made because the little Praslin led Paul Ravenel’s company along the river bed instead of Paul himself?
“My God, but it’s difficult!” cried Gerard. “Complexities upon complexities! How shall one judge—unless”—and he caught with relief at his good rules and standards—“yes, unless one walks in the crowd. It’s the only way to walk. Thou shalt do this! Thou shalt not do that! All clear and ordered and written in the book.”
Gerard had gibed enough in his day at those innumerable soldiers who answered every problem of regulations and manœuvres immediately with a complacent “It’s so laid down,” or “It’s not so laid down in the book.” He was glad to get back in the windings of this case to the broad highway of “the book.” The book told him how to deal with Paul Ravenel. Well, then!— Yet—yet——!
Marguerite watched his face cloud over, and hurriedly continued her story, or rather began to continue it. For at her first words as to how Paul had out-witted the invaders of the house in Fez Gerard interrupted her with a cry.
“The uniform tunic, eh, Marguerite? The tunic all hacked and battered with blood?” He uttered a little wholesome laugh of appreciation. “And all prepared in readiness the night before. Yes, I recognise Paul there.”
This was the third time that Gerard de Montignac had spoken of “Paul” without any “Ravenel” added to it to show that he and Paul were strangers. Marguerite, you may be sure, had counted each one of them with a little leap of the heart. “And the blood!” he went on. “I think I know whence that came. His arm, eh? Wasn’t it so?”
Marguerite had determined to use no tricks with him, but she could not resist one now, the oldest and simplest and the never-failing. She looked at Gerard with awe and admiration—so sharp he was and penetrating.
“Yes. Oh, but how did you know? It’s rather wonderful.”