“It isn’t likely to happen again, sir,” Traherne said gently. “I was desperate. And Miss Agnew will be angry won’t she? Scold you, perhaps.”
The grizzled mustache twitched. “It won’t happen twice again,” Colonel Agnew promised grimly. “Here, you, put the damned thing down where it was—and get about your business!”
Ali Halim held his hands up to Allah in gratitude as the Colonel’s door closed again, and Private Grainger permitted himself a broad grin and a wide chuckle.
It must not be implied that Colonel Agnew swore more than most men. As a rule he did not, but he saw red to-day, had seen so red all night that he had not slept at all. Both man and soldier he was hideously upset—and when that was so nothing so nearly relieved him as a good splutter of oaths. When well-nigh hysterical with anger he used “damns” as hysterical women use smelling-salts.
“I can’t give you so much as five minutes,” he said, as he seated himself at his writing-table, and Dr. Traherne sat down on the other side of it. “No,” looking at his watch. “I’ll give you exactly two. Go ahead.”
“It’s about Crespin,” Traherne said at once.
Agnew’s lips stiffened ominously. “There is nothing to be said about Major Crespin,” he interposed sharply. “You might have spared your legs, and my time.”
“I’ve come to ask you to give him one more chance, sir,” Traherne persisted.
“No!” the Colonel blurted.
“I speak as his physician,” the other man said.