"Married quarters?"
"Leastways, that's what they was until three days ago. The workmen be pullin' 'em down to put up new ones."
"And in pulling them down they have actually pulled down twelve feet of the wall protecting the fortress?"
"Certainly: a bit of old wall and as rotten as touch. Never you fret: the Frenchies won't be comin' along whilst you're here!"—thus Sergeant Topase in tones of fine sarcasm.
"By whose orders has this breach been made?" Captain Pond demanded sternly.
"Nobody's. I believe, if you ask me, 'twas just a little notion of the contractor's, for convenience of getting in his material and carting away the rubbish. He'll fix up the wall again as soon as the job's over, and the place will be stronger than ever."
"Monstrous!" exclaimed Captain Pond. "Monstrous! And you tell us he has done this without orders and no one has interfered!"
"I don't see what there is to fret about, savin' your presence," the old sergeant persisted. "And, any way, 'twon't take the man three days at the outside to cart off the old buildings. Allow another four for getting in the new material—"
"Seven days! seven days! And Great Britain engaged at this moment in the greatest war of its history! Oh, Doctor, Doctor—these professionals!"
Sergeant Topase shrugged his shoulders, and, concluding that his duties as a cicerone were at an end, edged away to the gatehouse for his breakfast.