“Left shoulder! Drilled clean through,” was the reply.
“And which way were you facing when the thing happened?” asked the corporal. “Think carefully. It is rather important.”
“I was facing up the path, with my back to the main road. I had heard something moving and had turned round, just at the moment.”
“That settles it,” answered the corporal emphatically. “It was the shot from the left that did for you, and your wife was on the right.”
“But who was on the left? Tell me that if you can, my Solomon.”
Corporal Bracknell shook his head. “There you hit one of the mysteries of this business. I don’t know, I wish I did, but as sure as my name is Roger Bracknell—”
“As sure as what?” The interruption came like a pistol shot, and the wounded man leaned forward with amazement showing in his face. “What name did you say you called yourself?”
“Roger Bracknell!” answered the corporal quietly.
“H’m!” responded the other, peering at him thoughtfully, then he said suddenly, “Take off that chapeau of yours!”
The corporal removed his fur cap, and sat with it in his hand, whilst the other searched his face with inquisitive eyes. There was a moment’s silence, and then the wounded man spoke again.