“No, Greene,” added Vereker. “Not goin’ to waste a good shenzi like that. We’re goin’ to have a jolly good Court-Martial out of him before we do him in. . . . And I shall hang him, Clarence—rope or no rope.”
“May I swing on his feet, Vereker?” begged Augustus. “Do let me! . . . Be a sport. . . .”
“Everything will be done properly and nicely,” was the reply, “and in the best style. There will be no swinging on the prisoner’s legs while I’m M.C. . . . Not unless the prisoner himself suggests it,” he added.
“How’ll we tell him of his many blessin’s, and so on?” enquired Berners.
“There’s an Arab blighter of Lindsay’s who professes to know a tongue spoken by a porter who knows Wadego. The bloke talks to the porter in Wadego, the porter talks to the Arab in the Tongue, the Arab talks to Wavell in Arabic, and Wavell talks to us in any language we like—French, German, Swahili, Hindustani, Latin, Greek, American, Turkish, Portuguese, Taal or even English. He knows all those. . . .”
“Let’s ask him to talk them all at once, while we smoke and quaff beakers of rum,” suggested Augustus. “And I say—couldn’t we torture the prisoner? I know lots of ripping tortures.”
“Well, I’m not going to have him ripped,” vetoed Vereker. “You gotter hand him over to the Provost-Marshal in good condition. . . Fair wear and tear of trial and incarceration allowed for, of course. . . . Bound to be some depreciation, I know.”
“What’s ‘to incarcerate’ mean, exactly?” enquired Augustus.
“Same as ‘incinerate.’”
“Can we do it to him by law?” asked Augustus.