“It is not true!” cried West. “The man who denounced me lied!”
“Then you have been to Mafeking?”
“Yes, sir: Mr Ingleborough and I.”
“And brought back a despatch?”
“Yes, sir: here it is!”
“Where?” said the Commandant, glancing down at the stained tunic on the bed.
“Open it now, sir,” said West to the doctor, who took out his knife again, slit the cloth, and drew out the big letter, terribly soaked with its bearer’s blood.
“Bravo! Brave messenger!” cried the Commandant, grasping West’s hand before tearing open the packet and finding enough of the despatch unstained to allow him to decipher the principal part of the text. “Hah!” he cried, when he had finished, “on the whole good news; but,” he continued, glancing at the date, “you have been a long time coming.”
“Have I, sir? We lost no time!”
“The poor fellow has been lying here for a fortnight, sir,” said the surgeon.