"Show me the place on the steps where you fell down."
A clever liar would have shown George some place or other and said, "Here, sir." But the soldier was so little accustomed to hypocrisy and concealment that he did not know whether to go to the right or to the left, and George once more took him to task. "I want to say something to you, Petersen; you know me, and you know that I try to act fairly towards you all, and shut my eyes whenever I can, but if you stand here and lie to me and make a fool of me, I shall get very angry indeed, and I can assure you you won't appreciate that side of me. Well, now out with it. I pledge you my word you shan't suffer for it. Where did you fall down?"
A struggle was going on in Petersen's mind. At last he said: "I did not fall down at all."
"But—what happened then?"
"Non-Commissioned Officer von Nissew struck me on the head with a frying-pan."
George was enraged beyond measure, although from the first he had not for a moment doubted that something of the kind had happened; still, he did not want to betray his feelings towards his subordinate, so he only said: "So that's it. Well, that will do. Now go back into line."
But the private stood still in a stiff attitude before his lieutenant and did not move. "Do you want to say anything else?" asked George. "You know, Petersen, you cannot lodge a complaint against von Nissew to-day. You must not do that till to-morrow, or you yourself will be liable to punishment."
"Sir, if you will allow me, I do not want to make any complaint."
"What do you want, then?"
The soldier, a tall, strong, fine-looking man, trembled in every limb.