“Why, you did, over and over again.”
“A lie! No. I said Lennox. Ah! To run for his miserable life—a coward—a cur!”
“What!” cried Dickenson angrily; but Roby lay silent as if exhausted, and, to the young officer’s horror and disgust, a womanly sob came from the corporal’s rough pallet at the end of the hut, and in a whining voice he moaned:
“Yes, sir; he don’t mean you, but Mr Lennox, sir. I saw him run, and it’s all true.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
“There’s Nothing like the Truth.”
Bob Dickenson’s jaw dropped as he stood staring for some moments at the corporal—as if he could not quite believe his ears. It seemed to him that this had something to do with the explosion, and that his hearing apparatus was still wrong, twisting and distorting matters, or else that the excitement of the past night and his exertions had combined with the aforesaid explosion to make him stupid and confused.
But all the same he felt that he could think and weigh and compare Roby’s words with those of the corporal, and experienced the sensation of a tremendous effervescence of rage bubbling up within his breast and rising higher and higher to his lips till it burst forth in words hot with indignation.