"Sorry for what, sir?"
"Sorry that anyone should have thought it worth while to carry tales to you; but also sorry for the incident itself."
"It appears to me, Major Vigoureux, that the incident demands some apology."
"I have made it."
Sir Cæsar crossed his legs and coughed to clear his throat. "I think, my dear sir," said he, in a tone at once slightly pompous and slightly nervous, "I really think it's time that you and I came to an understanding; that we—er—recognised, so to speak, the situation, and played with the cards on the table. Do you agree with me?"
"I might," answered the Commandant, guardedly; "that is to say, if I understood."
"I acquit you, of course, of any active share in the incident, and I am assured that Archelaus and Treacher were no worse than accomplices. It appears that the real culprit was a totally different person, and," he went on, after a glance at the Commandant's face, which betrayed nothing, "it may save time if I tell you that she has confessed to me."
"Excuse me, I was not proposing to make any remark."
"But who in the world is the young person?"
The Commandant's eyebrows arched themselves slightly. "She is a lady," he answered, in a dry voice. "If she omitted to tell you her name, the omission was no doubt intentional, and she has carried her confession just so far as she intended it to go."