"'Oh, you have, have you?' says he.
"''Tis a spy, sir,' says I, 'and it's signalling to the Huns he was when I caught him.'
"'Another blessed spy legend,' he yawned, 'I really thought that you, McNab, would be the last man to become afflicted with the spy craze. I have arrested half a dozen so-called spies this week already only to find they were harmless rustics—'
"'I beg your pardon, Colonel,' I returns, with that chilling dignity which has at times even made generals falter, 'but there is no legend about Private McNab's spy.'
"'Then trot out your spy,' he says, 'and I'll come and look 'im over.'
"'I not only caught him red-handed at his nefarious trafficking (them was the very words I used) ... I not only caught the blighter, but I put his light out.'
"'What?' he shouts, clutching my arm, 'you killed the poor brute.'
"'We did—me and Tommy, and we found this here code in his fob,' said I.
"With that I threw the little code book on the bed, and the old man, after looking through it carefully (he could read German, our old man), got out of bed and started dressing in a businesslike way.
"'Shut that door, McNab,' says he, 'and let me have the benefit of your invaluable advice.'