“The orders did not run to that point, sir,”—with a louder chuckle—“but I should say not later than midnight.”
“Then I’ve a few minutes’ grace, and I’ll spend them playing on the sidewalk, while you warm the sheets and get the milk,” and with another laugh he went out. “Don’t forget the milk,” he added over his shoulder.
Bernheim held open the door.
“I’ll not, sir,” he said, and followed him.
At the street, Armand stopped.
“Where are you going, Colonel?” he asked.
The heels clicked together and the hand went up.
“For the milk, sir.”
He recognized the futility of further opposition; with the Regent’s command to sustain him, Bernheim would not be denied.
“Come, along, then,” he ordered—“and if they have a cow at the American Embassy I’ll set you to milking it, or I’m a sailor.”