At last, to West’s intense satisfaction, the horribly blood-stained garment was brought in, and his hand went out trembling to catch it by the breast, fully expecting to find the missive gone.
“Yes,” he cried wildly, “it is here!”
“Hah!” cried the doctor, and, taking out his knife, he prepared to slit it up, but West checked him.
“No,” he panted: “the Commandant. Send for him here!”
“My good lad, he is so busy, he would not come! Let me cut out the message and send it to him.”
“No,” said West firmly; “I will not part from it till he comes.”
“But really—”
“Tell him a wounded messenger from Mafeking has a letter for him, and he will come.”
West was right: the magic word Mafeking brought the Commandant to his bedside; and as soon as he came up he stopped short and made what little blood poor West had left flush to his face, for he cried:
“Hullo! Why, it is our illicit-diamond-dealer! I thought we were never to see you again!”