"That's what cavalry are for, my friend. Stop their taking risks and they're useless. Army up yet?" he asked abruptly.
"They're nearly all here, sir. The three divisions and the batteries are now digging themselves in. There are some of them, sir," pointing to a group of khaki-clad figures close by busy with picks and shovels.
"All we want now, then, is old Gabriel. Hope he will come on, and not wait for Michael. That would dish us rather."
"I don't think you need fear that, sir; the two, I happen to know, have little love for each other. It's jealousy, sir; they've been rivals for years. Gabriel would sacrifice Michael, or Michael Gabriel, without the smallest hesitation."
"Good heavens, man," said Graeme, turning furiously on him, "here's information I'd have given a thousand pounds for, and you casually mention it as if it were of no consequence whatever. How do you know it, though?"
"I've relations in the country, sir, and they know both men. I'd have told you if I'd thought it of consequence, sir."
"Of consequence? It's the whole blessed thing. It makes it a certainty, can't you see? Why, but for knowing it I might have shoved on to meet Gabriel—a risky job with my lot. Now I sit here and smoke my cigarette in peace. Hullo, hear that?" suddenly gripping Godwin by the arm, and staring westward, whence a faint dull boom had sounded.
"It must be Roy, sir."
"Of course it's Roy, don't be an obvious fool. There it is again," as a second dull boom was heard, followed by another, and then more, merging into a low, intermittent muttering.
"It's begun now, Old Un—seconds out of the ring, first round, time. See there," pointing ahead, "Maitland's helio going; what does he say, you?" to the officer in charge of the Headquarter signalling station close by, whose own helio was now clicking violently in answer. The man spelt out the message, rapidly jotting it down as it came, and then brought it over to Graeme.