At that moment the gunnery-lieutenant, accompanied by the engineer-commander and the sergeant of the guard, came out of the building.
"Party—'shun!" ordered the former. "By the right—double."
The engine was whistling peremptorily. Disregarding the eager inquiries of his brother officers in the carriage the gunnery-lieutenant ordered his men to board the train, which, during the pursuit of the miscreant, had moved on sufficiently to enable the American troop train to pass.
As Farrar and Holcombe, accompanied by the St. Bernard, were about to enter the carriage the gunnery-lieutenant called them aside.
"Don't say too much about the business," he cautioned them. "We've made a deuce of a blunder, and I expect there'll be a holy terror of a row up-topsides. The unlucky bounder laid out by one of the bluejackets was a genuine major; both the sergeant and the corporal of the guard were certain on that point. It is an unfortunate coincidence, and what is worse the fellow we went after has got away. Whether they catch him or not rests with the military and the civil police. We did what we could, and did it jolly badly."
"After all," remarked Farrar when the two chums were once more seated in the compartment, "my way, although drastic, would have been better than this fiasco; and I guess that poor blighter of a major would think so too if he had the choice between a punch on the jaw from a champion boxer or spending a couple of hours under escort with a dozen other Brass Hats to keep him company."
"It was a bit of excitement, if nothing else," said Holcombe.
"And I've found a jolly fine dog," added the R.N.V.R. sub, patting the huge animal's head. "I'll call him Bruno... and I don't think we'll need this again."
And he hurled the dog's muzzle out of the window.