“Bah!” he replied, his upper lip curling. “I want you to bring your chief officer here.”
“I dare say you do, my fine fellow,” cried Denham. “Pretty good for a prisoner! You don’t suppose he’ll come—do you? Here, what do you want? Tell me, and I’ll carry your message to the chief.”
Moriarty gave the young officer a contemptuous glance, and then turned to me.
“Go and tell the Colonel, or whatever he is, that I am greatly surprised at his inattention to my former message.”
“Did you send a message?” I asked, surprised by his words.
“Of course I did, two days ago, by the surgeon. It’s not gentlemanly of your Colonel. Go and tell him that I feel well enough to move now, and that I desire him to send me with a proper escort, and under a white flag, to make an exchange of prisoners.”
“Well, I’ll take your message,” I said; “but—”
“Yes, go at once,” said Moriarty, “and bring me back an answer, for I’m sick of this place.”
He turned away, and, without so much as a glance at Denham, lay back, staring up at the sky.
“Well,” said Denham when we were out of hearing, “of all the arrogance and cheek I ever witnessed, that fellow possesses the most. Here, what are you going to do?”