"Did you lose anything?" asked Hamilton ungraciously.
Bones thought.
"Now you come to mention it," he said slowly, "I did lose quite a lot of things, but dear old Bosambo wouldn't play a dirty trick on a pal. I know Bosambo."
"If there is one thing more evident than another," said Hamilton, "it is that you do not know Bosambo."
Hamilton was wakened at three in the next morning by the telegraph operator. It was a "clear the line" message, coded from headquarters, and half awake he went into Sanders' study and put it into plain English.
"Hope you are watching the Ochori border," it ran, "representations from French Government to the effect that a crossing is imminent."
He pulled his mosquito boots on over his pyjamas, struggled into a coat and crossed to Lieutenant Tibbetts' quarters.
Bones occupied a big hut at the end of the Houssa lines, and Hamilton woke him by the simple expedient of flashing his electric hand lamp in his face.
"I have had a telegram," he said, and Bones leapt out of bed wide awake in an instant.
"I knew jolly well I would draw a horse," he said exultantly. "I had a dream——"