"The trench the second detachment held should have been difficult to rush!"
"But," Blake insisted, "you must remember that the beggars were Ghazees; they're hard to stop. Then, our men were worn out and had been sniped every night for the last week or two. However, the bugler's the key to my explanation; I'll put this dab of cigar ash here to represent him. This bishop's Bertram, and you can judge by the distance whether the fellow could have heard the order to blow, 'Cease fire,' through the row that was going on."
He resumed his quick moving of the chessmen, accompanying it by a running commentary.
"Here's another weak point in the tale, which must be obvious to any one who has handled troops; these fellows couldn't have gained a footing in this hollow because it was raked by our fire. There was no cover and the range was short. Then, you see the folly of believing that the section with which the bugler was could have moved along the ridge; they couldn't have crossed between the Ghazees and the trench. They'd have been exposed to our own fire in the rear."
He added more to much the same effect, and then swept the chessmen up into a heap and looked at his companion.
"I think you ought to be convinced," he said.
"It all turns upon the bugler's movements," Challoner contended.
"And he was killed. I've tried to show you that he couldn't have been where Clarke's account had him."
Challoner was silent for a while, and Blake watched him anxiously until he looked up.
"I think you have succeeded, Dick, though I feel that with a trifling alteration here and there you could have cleared yourself. Now we'll let the painful matter drop for good; unless, indeed, some fresh light is ever thrown on it."