“Business so important as dot,” grinned he, “must be attended to, a little.”
At a command of the sergeant, one of the soldiers brought an ink pot and a quill from the headquarters across the way; with weak, numbed fingers, Slade scrawled a few lines upon a sheet of paper.
“Take that to him,” he said. “That will answer, I think.”
The sergeant accepted the note and the gold pieces.
“Inside,” said he, pointing to headquarters, “a fire is by der hall. Go there and wait. When I der time get, I’ll give this to der colonel.”
“You will be sure?”
“You will wait der fire beside,” stated the fat sergeant. “To my own affairs I will attend myself.”
As there was nothing to be gained by insistence, Slade turned and limped slowly across the street; then the door opened and closed behind him.
“If he gives that note to Colonel Rahl,” breathed Peggy, “it may destroy everything.”
“It’s half-past three,” replied George, quietly, looking at his watch. “The army has more than likely now reached this side of the river.”