“There is no such danger now.”
Hanson smiled meaningly.
“What do you mean?”
“Only this, sir,” said the man, taking a step nearer, and laying a finger on his shoulder.
“What of that—a tear in the flannel, sewn up?”
“Not a tear, sir—a cut from a sharp knife that was stuck in there from behind.”
“When?”
“The night before last, sir.”
“What! were you wounded?”
“Only scratched, sir. The aim was bad, and I started when I seemed to feel something coming, so that the blade went down along by my arm.”