“Matter? Why, he was the sentry Moriarty knocked down.”
“Oh, poor fellow! I am sorry,” I said, for the private in question was one of the smartest and best-tempered men in our troop.
“So’s everybody,” replied Denham. “I say: it was contusion in his case, not collusion.”
“Where is he?” I said.
“In hospital. Duncombe’s a bit uneasy about him. I’m going on again to see him. Will you come?”
“Of course,” I said eagerly.
“Come along, then. We’ll take the lamp, or some sentry may be popping at us.”
“The wind will puff it out in that narrow passage.”
“Not as I shall carry it,” replied my companion; and he led off, with his broad-brimmed felt held over the flickering wick, in and out among the fallen stones between the walls, nearly to the other side of the court. Here another covered-in patch had been turned into a fairly snug hospital by hanging up two wagon-tilts twenty feet apart, after clearing away the loose stones; and a certain number of fairly comfortable beds had been made of the captured corn-sacks.
On reaching the first great curtain Denham called upon me to hold it aside, as his hands were full; and as I did so I caught sight, on the right-hand side, of our doctor down on one knee and bending over his patient, whose face could be seen by the light of a lantern placed upon a stone, while his voice sounded plainly, as if he were replying to something the surgeon had said.