Arnold was busy tearing open the field dressing which I carried in a pocket of my tunic.
"Use the iodine first, Arnold; it's in the pocket in a glass phial."
"The glass is broken, sir."
"In a piece of paper there are two morphia tablets—quick, better give them to me."
"They are not here, sir." And he bound the dressing round my eyes as the blood trickled down my face.
"Quick, Arnold, my right pocket—feel in it; some papers there—a secret code—take them out—tear them up—quickly; tell me have you done it?"
"Yes, sir, I have done it."
I was sinking; I felt myself going; I felt that the end was at hand. I clutched his shoulder and pulled him towards me:
"Arnold, I'm going. If you get back—tell my—wife—" But the message that was on my lips was not finished; I could speak no more. I was dropping into space, dropping, dropping; everything disappeared, I remembered no more.
I do not know how long I remained in this condition. I remember gaining consciousness and finding Arnold by my side.