The McNab came into the room with an impetuous rush. Being a long and somewhat narrow apartment, and the door being close to one angle, he had some distance to traverse to where the officers stood with their backs to the window. As he strode he seemed to be peering eagerly, as if to discern the faces of the guests as they stood silhouetted against the light.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he exclaimed in slow, measured tones that contrasted with his hurried arrival. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
"Not at all," replied Gilroy easily. "Acting on your open invitation we've brought a brother-officer along: Mr. Aubyn—the McNab."
Terence made a step forward. His jaw was tightly set, his face pale in spite of his tanned complexion. He made no attempt to grasp the outstretched hand of the tenant of Tuilabrail, but kept his arms close to his side with his fists firmly clenched.
For a moment the McNab stood with a look of surprise upon his face. Then his smile of welcome changed into a venomous look. His hand flew to his pocket.
"Crash!"
With a swift and powerful left-hander Terence's fist shot forward, caught the man full in the centre of the chest and sent him reeling. The next instant Aubyn's brother-officers were astounded to see their host prostrate on his back with his arms and legs beating a tattoo on the carpet, while the sub. sat on his chest.
"Are you mad, man?" demanded Gilroy, laying his hand on the sub.'s shoulder. The apparently meaningless attack by the officer to whom he stood sponsor—an outrage upon a man in the sanctity of his home—could only be the outcome of the frenzy of a disordered mind.
"Far from it," replied Terence. "You fellows might bear a hand and secure Major von Eckenhardt."
"Von Eckenhardt!" echoed the engineer-commander. "Impossible."