“Yes,” I answered uncompromisingly.
“Some one must go to them—”
“Yes.”
Again there was that horrid silence, broken only by the tramp of the sentinel outside the glassless windows.
“Who?” asked the brigadier, in little more than a whisper.
I suppose he expected it of me—I suppose he knew that even for him, even in mercy to an old man whose only joy in life trembled at that moment in the balance, I could not perpetrate a cruel injustice.
“It devolves on Charlie,” I answered.
He gave one quick glance beneath his lashes, and again lowered his eyes. I heard a long gasping sound, as if he found difficulty in breathing. He sat upright, and threw back his shoulders with a pitiable effort to be strong.
“Is he up to the work?” he asked quietly.
“I cannot conscientiously say that he is not.”