“I see now,” he announced to any who cared to listen, which was me, “why war was a noble career in the days when it was fought like that. There’s some point in being allowed by the rules to kick a man and know it was a good job.”
“You’re a disreputable looking savage,” I told him.
“And a bit of a wreck, yourself,” he chortled at me. “I hand it to these soldiers. They’re a swell bunch of guys.”
The swell bunch of guys began wrapping a stout rope around his good arm, tying it effectually to his body. I protested violently, but the only attention they paid to me was to tie my wrists. They were all talking so hard that no one would answer a question or speak to us at all. I stopped trying to do anything more, and just leaned back against the wall, too exhausted to worry even in the face of our latest capture.
“We should have stayed,” John said to me, “at Visichich Manor. That Countess is a damned nice girl. I wish she were here now, she’d get us out of this mess.”
“While we are wishing,” I said, “we might as well wish a little higher. I wish the Black Ghost were here.”
“Which one?” John asked, grinning.
“Oh,” I said. “Were there two, do you think?”
“I know it,” John said. “And what is more, I think I know who the second one is.”
“Who?” I asked.