“When—did—he——” Jimmy could not bring himself to say the dread word.
“Soon after they took him to hospital.” Bob was silent for a moment. “He—he—suffered terribly. One of those two that dropped right afterward is—is—gone. Brady, that slim, curly-headed fellow, that was always laughing. The other may pull through. All the rest will, I guess. They’re pretty sure it was the pudding. Simpson asked for a second portion of the stuff. I’d like to get my hands on the fiend that poisoned it. I’d choke the life out of him!”
“They’re taking it hard at headquarters,” Bob continued. “The K. O.’s wild about it. Says he’ll never rest till he gets the one who did it. That’s what I heard. I didn’t have a personal interview with him.” This last with grim humor. “They gathered in the k. m.’s before they’d finished their work. Don’t know what’s been done to ’em, so far. Couldn’t get a line on that. Don’t know whether the story broke in time for an evening extra or not. I couldn’t get one. The morning papers will be full of it. There’ll be a bunch of reporters on the scene to-morrow. It’s hinted that arsenic was used. Nobody’ll know that, though, until the pudding’s been analyzed and post mortem held on—on——” Bob drew a sharp, whistling breath. “A dog’s death for two brave fellows to die,” he went on with intense bitterness.
“Yet they died in their country’s service,” reminded Roger softly. “They did their level best for Uncle Sam while they lasted. Brady and Simpson; splendid boys and good soldiers.” Unconsciously, Roger had voiced the finest eulogy that a man could desire to have spoken of him.
“Yes, we mustn’t forget that,” assented Bob sadly. “This has been a horrible day. I wish I could wipe it off my slate. But I can’t. And then there’s Schnitz to think of. Anything out of the ordinary happen while I was gone?” he asked with sudden irrelevance.
“Not a thing. Why?” Jimmy detected anxiety in the question.
“I thought maybe there’d be a guard detail sent to go through the kitchen men’s stuff. It’s too early for that, I guess. You don’t suppose Schnitz would have anything among his traps that might look bad for him, do you?”
“What could he have?” wondered Roger. “We know he couldn’t have any poison. What else could there be?”
“Nothing.” Bob hesitated. “It’s only on account of his nationality. You know how Bixton’s talked about him. You know, too, why our fellows were poisoned. He’s the only G. A. in this barrack. He was on kitchen duty. Now suppose he had some trifle among his belongings that was perfectly all right in itself, but looked fishy to the search party? It’s not likely to be so, but it might be.”