“Your Son, Sir? Your Son is doing well. So at least we gather.”
“Doing well?”
“He was wounded, Sir, yesterday. Have you not heard?”
Redwood smote these pretences aside. His voice was no longer coloured by fear, but by anger. “You know I have not heard. You know I have heard nothing.”
“Mr. Caterham feared, Sir—It was a time of upheaval. Every one—taken by surprise. He arrested you to save you, Sir, from any misadventure—”
“He arrested me to prevent my giving any warning or advice to my son. Go on. Tell me what has happened. Have you succeeded? Have you killed them all?”
The young man made a pace or so towards the window, and turned.
“No, Sir,” he said concisely.
“What have you to tell me?”
“It’s our proof, Sir, that this fighting was not planned by us. They found us ... totally unprepared.”