Mayhan gritted his teeth. The man was certainly a boor. Still there was perhaps provocation in the pain he was suffering. Nevertheless, the surgeon rather enjoyed the probing. He knew how he was hurting, yet his victim wouldn't give him the satisfaction of wincing.
He drew it out at last and held it up to the light.
"I know that," he said, inspecting it. "A forty-five of the sort they use in those new American automatics. Has yours the new safety device?"
Scripps's teeth let go his lip long enough to growl: "No! That was the devil of it!"
As the young surgeon proceeded with his work of cleansing he continued to chatter:
"I was hoping it had. I wanted to see it. Colonel Darling was speaking of it last night at the club. There's a friend of his here—a young fellow named Andrews, from over on the Bombay side—who has one. He's promised Darling to show it him."
Scripps was pale from pain, but his grit was indomitable. He choked back a groan and said:
"Darling? Colonel Darling? I think I know him."
"I dare say."
Scripps relapsed into silence again. The wound still hurt abominably.