“Well, that be true, guv’nor. We all on us find that out some time or another, but he aint no good.”
“There’s some truth in what he said, though,” cried another of the soldiers—“that it’s us privates as wins all the battles, while the generals take good care to keep out of harm’s way.”
“Ah, my lad,” said an old soldier, joining the group of idlers, “that’s all very well as far as it goes, but you might as well put a horse in a gig and tell him to drive himself up to London, as to set an army at an army without a general to hold the reins. And it wants a brave man to be general in a fight when the cannons are roaring, and the wounded are groaning, and the smoke is thickening. It’s hard work to keep one’s head cool to see what regiments want help and what regiments can do by themselves. I tell you it aint easy work either for the generals, the captains, or the privates. But here we are—sorry soldiers, to block up the passage in this fashion, and none offering to move to make room for a pretty girl to pass.”
This last observation applied to Nell Fulford, who had silently and quickly drawn towards the entrance of the passage.
“Now, then, soldiers, make yourselves a little less, and let this young woman pass.”
Several of the men withdrew at once, and Mr. Wrench and Joe passed through and gained the public room beyond.
“Keep quiet. Our business is to watch, but don’t either of you say anything till I address you,” whispered the detective, as they took their way along.
The three entered the room, in a dark corner of which they seated themselves. Wrench ordered some beer and sandwiches, which were brought.
They all three of them glanced round the room, and soon perceived the subject of the soldiers’ conversation. He was a bent, long-haired man, with a green shade over his eyes, and dressed in a kind of cloak with loose sleeves.
At the next table, with a huge cheese before him, and glass of cold brandy and water at his side, sat a stalwart, broad-shouldered man, with a hard square cast of face.