“In a time like this, Major Buckstone,” said he, “there is work of all sorts to be done for His Majesty, the King. You have your place—we have ours.”
“And you will pardon me for saying it, I’m sure,” said Abdallah, also addressing the major, “but your place is decidedly not here.”
The words were softly spoken; but, for all, there was behind them the bitter resentment of a man not accustomed to being crossed.
Major Buckstone drew himself up, and saluted formally.
“Sir,” he made reply, “you have complimented me highly. You are quite right. This is not my place. In plain words, a man of my quality should never have been detailed upon such duty.”
The ferret-faced youth, his eyes full of alarm, furtively tugged at the speaker’s sleeve; then he whispered some words of caution. But the burly soldier shook him off impatiently.
“I understand you very well, Jason Collyer,” said he with ponderous disdain. “But as I have told you many times in this last twenty-four hours, I will pay no heed to you. I have my own way of conducting my own business, and that I will persist in.”
Abdallah made a sign to the ferret-faced youth, and the latter fell back from the plainspoken major. Then the two drew together at a far corner of the room and consulted in whispers. The major turned to Ezra once more.
“You have ridden from Cambridge, I understand,” said he.
“I have,” replied the lad, briefly.