“Great heavens!” he ejaculated, as he drew it forth from where it was sticking through the stiff collar of his coat; “right through from side to side—what a narrow escape!”
“I—I thought he had killed you,” I cried faintly, and a deathly sensation made me feel for the moment as if I must fall.
“No, not a scratch,” he said firmly now. “A little memento,” he muttered, as he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it round the blade before thrusting the knife in his breast-pocket. “I must keep that for my private museum, Herrick. Here, my lads, throw something over that wretch. Sentry, I’ll talk to you later on. You saved my life.”
“Officer’s orders, sir,” said the man, looking uncomfortable and stiff as he drew himself up.
“What, to save my life?” said Mr Reardon, smiling, and trying to look as if everything had been part of the ordinary business of life.
“No, sir; to keep my eye on the Chinees. I had mine on that chap, for he looked ugly at you, and I see him pull himself together, shuffle in his blue jacket, and then make a jump at you, just like a cat at a rat.”
“What?”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man awkwardly; “I don’t mean to say as you looked like a rat.”
“I hope not, my lad.”
“I meant him jumping like a cat.”