Very gingerly John Dene unrolled the paper, Dorothy watching from a safe distance with wide-eyed curiosity.
"Gee!" he muttered, as a large dead grey rat lay exposed, its upper lip drawn back from his teeth, giving it a snarling appearance. He looked interrogatingly at Colonel Walton.
"There; but for the grace of God lies John Dene of Toronto," he remarked quietly, nodding in the direction of the two rodents.
"Here, what the hell——!" began John Dene, then catching sight of Dorothy he stopped suddenly.
"Two days ago you ordered for lunch ris de veau and apple tart—among other things. The rat is the victim of the one, the guinea-pig of the other."
Dorothy gave a little cry of horror. John Dene looked across at her quickly, then back to Colonel Walton.
"You mean——" he began.
"That a certain Department has assumed the responsibility of catering for a distinguished visitor," was the quiet reply. "It is but one of the pleasant obligations of empire."
John Dene sat gazing at the dead animals as if fascinated. With distended eyes and slightly parted lips Dorothy looked from the table to Colonel Walton, and then back to the table again, as if unable to comprehend the full significance of what was taking place.
"I would suggest," said Colonel Walton, "that you never take food regularly at any one hotel or restaurant. Avoid being out late at night, particularly raid-nights."