“I think I can see through the mystery.”
“Then you have better eyes than I have,” said the colonel. “Proceed.”
“It was one of their tricks, sir,” said Dickenson. “They came into camp with their wagons and waited their chance.”
“But the powder, man, the powder?” said the colonel impatiently.
“So many bags of it, sir, each inside one of the sacks of maize; and the night they were to go away they slit their sacks open, took out the powder, and planted it at the back of your quarters, sir.”
“That will do, Mr Dickenson,” said the colonel dryly.
“Beg pardon, sir. I thought it a very likely explanation of the business.”
“Too likely, Mr Dickenson,” said the colonel, “for it is undoubtedly the right one. The misfortune is that the treacherous scoundrels have got away. Bah! They’re worse than savages! Well, let us all be thankful for our escape. I thought I had taken every precaution I could, but one never knows. Then you will not have to go into hospital, Lennox?”
“Oh no, sir; I shall be all right in a few hours.”
“And you, Colour-Sergeant James?”