"You're right, sonny," he said. "It means a hundred pounds to you scouts. Hulloa, though! You need not have troubled to belabour him with your poles. He's as dead as a doornail."
Otto Oberfurst had kept his vow not to be taken alive. In the mêlée he had regained possession of his pistol and had sent a shot clean through his brain. The bullet in passing out had lodged in the arm of one of the scouts.
A police inspector joined in the examination.
"Yes," he agreed; "he's saved a file of soldiers a job."
"And has done a pack of lawyers out of a fat sum," added the lieutenant grimly.
CHAPTER XXXV
TRESSIDAR'S REWARD
In the well-kept grounds of a naval hospital, far removed from the danger-zone, where Zepp. alarms were unknown and the angry buzz of raiding Taubes did not disturb the peaceful atmosphere, two bronzed but obviously "crocked" officers were sunning themselves in comfortable camp-chairs.
Ronald Tressidar had only just been able to dispense with the aid of crutches, and with the assistance of a stout stick and the shoulder of a fellow-patient he could get about the grounds without much difficulty.