"It was meant for Mr. Dene, sir," he said. "I just got there in time. It was that ferret-eyed little blighter," he added without the slightest suggestion of animosity. Thompson was a sportsman, taking and giving hard knocks with philosophic good-humour.
"Plucky little devil," murmured Malcolm Sage. "He bit and scratched with the utmost impartiality."
Malcolm Sage and Thompson were seated in Colonel Walton's room discussing the events of the morning.
"We were only just in time," said Sage. "Finlay was right."
Colonel Walton nodded.
"It was dope, sir." Thompson looked from Colonel Walton to Malcolm Sage. "Sir Bryllith said he'll be months in a home."
"Yes," said Sage. "He won't be fit to answer questions for a long time. Been doped all the time, nearly three months."
"If there's nothing more——" began Thompson.
"No, Thompson, go and get a sleep," said Colonel Walton. "Look after that arm, and take things easy for a few days."
"Thank you, sir," said Thompson; "but I'm afraid I've forgotten the way," and with a grin he went out.