By this time showmen and merrymakers, startled out of the neighbouring tents by the explosion, as bees from their hives, were running to and fro with lanterns and naphtha flares, seeking for the victims. A ring of the searchers came to a halt around the Major and Ben Jope, and Ben, catching sight of his companion's face, let out another yell.
"It's all right." The Major clutched him by the arm and turned. "It's all right, my good people. He can walk, you see. I'll take him along to the hospital."
He managed to reassure them, and they passed on. He slipped an arm under Ben's and led him away into the darkness.
"But I seen you blowed into air, ten years ago, with these very eyes," persisted Ben.
"And with these very eyes I saw you blown into air ten minutes ago; and yet we're both alive," the Major assured him.
"An' I come here o' purpose to look up your ha'nts, havin' been always pretty curious about that tale o' your'n, but kep' moderate busy all these years."
"And Bill Adams?"
"Wot?" Mr. Jope halted. "Haven't you 'eard? Bill's dead. Drink done it—comin' upon it too 'asty. Simmons's boarding-house, Plymouth, that's where it was. Quite a decent house, an' the proprietor behaved very well about it, I will say. But where on earth have you been hidin' all these years, that you never heard about Bill?"
"In a French war prison, Ben. And, Ben, you found me a berth once, you remember. I wonder if you could get me into another?"
"O' course I can," Mr. Jope answered cheerily. "You come along o' me to Plymouth an' I'll put you into the very job. A cook's galley, it is, and so narra' that with a wooden leg in dirty weather you can prop yourself tight when she rolls, an' stir the soup with it between-times!"