"It's a mutual surprise, Benson," Blake replied, and the other, holding on by a chair back, smiled at him genially.
"Often wondered where you went to after you left Peshawur, old man. Though you got the sack for it, it wasn't your fault the ghazees broke our line that night. Said so to the Colonel—can see him now, sitting there, looking very sick and cut up, and Bolsover, acting adjutant, blinking like an owl."
"Be quiet!" Blake said in alarm, for the man had been a lieutenant of native infantry when they had met on the hill campaign.
Benson, however, was not to be deterred and addressed the rest: "This gentleman old friend of mine; never agreed with solemn old Colonel, but they wouldn't listen to me. Very black night in India; ghazees coming yelling up the hill; nothing would stop them. Rifles cracking, Nepalese comp'ny busy with the bayonet, and in the thick of it the bugle goes——"
Raising a hand to his mouth, he gave a shrill imitation of the call "Cease fire!" and then lost his balance and fell over the chair with a crash.
"Leave him to me," said Gardner, who seized the fallen man and with some difficulty lifted him to his feet. After he pushed him through the door there were sounds of a scuffle and two or three minutes later Gardner came back with a bruise upon his face.
"He's quiet now and the bartender will put him to bed," he said.
There was silence for the next few moments, for the group on the verandah had been impressed by the scene; then a man came up the steps. He was dressed in old brown overalls and carried a riding quirt, but Harding recognized him as the man they had met at the Windsor in Montreal.
"Have you got Benson here?" he asked.
"Sure," said Gardner. "He's left his mark on my cheek. Why don't you look after the fool? Anyhow, you must have come pretty quietly; I didn't hear you until you were half way up the steps."