Pierre would give a final rumble and begin to think deeply.
"I cannot think. I—in my left hand, monsieur le capitaine?"
"In your left hand."
The little crowd in the dressing room would draw in close about the table to listen.
"I do not know, monsieur."
"Idiot!" Henri would say. "Your right elbow, man!"
And the dressing was done.
He had an inexhaustible stock of such riddles, almost never guessed. He would tell the answer and then laugh delightedly. And pain seemed to leave the little room when he entered it.
It was that night that Henri disappeared.