“Certainly, Stubbs,” replied Wyatt; “and of some one high in power.”
Chapter XXIX.
“Hot Boiled Beans.”
It was about half-an-hour later that, after a refreshing wash, the two officers sat together, partly dressed, talking in the room where the tulwar still hung, and with the pleasant knowledge that if, after all, a smouldering cartridge-cover had been accidentally taken into the fresh magazine, they might at any moment be blown up piecemeal.
“Yes, it is a nice idea,” said Wyatt in reply to a remark made by Dick. “It has stopped me, too, from having a ‘hubble-bubble’ to smoke. But never mind; we must chance it for one night.”
“Or morning,” said Dick.
“Eh? Yes, it must be getting late, and I want a sleep for an hour or two, even if it is with a bag of powder for a pillow. So now to business. You have some idea of how the attacks are made?”
“I have thought of one,” replied Dick, “but it sounds so silly and romantic that I don’t like to tell you.”
“Your commanding officer orders you to speak, sir. ’Tention! Now, Mr Darrell, what are your ideas?”
Dirk coughed to get rid of a little nervous huskiness and then he said: