“Grease the rope,” was the reply. “They like it. Butter is awfully good.”
“Put the knot under the left ear, don’t you?” asked Augustus.
“I do,” answered Vereker. “Some put it under the right. . . . I have seen it at the back. Looks bad, though. Depressin’. Bloke hangs his head. Mournful sight. . . .”
“Got any rope?” enquired Augustus.
“No! . . . How thoughtless of me! . . . Never mind—make up something with strips of bark. . . . Might let the bloke make his own—only himself to blame, then, if it broke and he met with an accident.”
“I have heard of suicides—and—people hanging themselves with their braces,” observed Augustus.
“Wadego shenzis don’t have braces,” replied Vereker.
“No, but Greene does. I’m perfectly sure he’d be delighted to lend you his. He’s kindness itself. Or would you rather he were shot, Greene? We must remember there’s no blood about a hanging, whereas there’s lots the other way—’specially if it’s done by askaris with Martinis. . . . On the other hand, hanging lasts longer. I dunno what to advise for the best. . . .”
“Suppose we try him first,” suggested Bertram.
“Of course!” was the somewhat indignant reply. “I’m surprised at you, Greene. You wouldn’t put him to the edge of the sword without a trial, would you?”