“May the divils of Hell strike you dead for an English blackguard!”
“I’m as Irish as yourself, mother!” he answered her, not liking the way in which windows began to open and heads come out, at the sound of her shrill voice.
“Irish are ye! Then why the divil d’ye look like an English cut-throat? Holy Mother o’ God! May the English soon be driven into the sea and all drowned with the spawn of Hell!”
At the barrack gate, the sentry fell back with his bayonet on guard. At the sight of an unknown civilian he looked thoroughly scared, and the point of his bayonet trembled.
“It’s all right, my man,” said Bertram, in his best army style. “I’m Major Bertram Pollard. I’ve come to see my brother, Mr. Digby Pollard.”
“No civilians allowed, sir,” said the man. “Nobody in civil clothes,” he added, as a concession to Bertram’s rank.
“Send a message up to the O.C. It’s important.”
The message was sent, and an orderly came down to take him to Colonel Lavington. It appeared that Digby was out on a search party and would not be back until the following day.
“Sorry!” said the Colonel pleasantly. “Anything I can do for you, Major?”
Bertram was utterly depressed by this stroke of evil luck. By the time Digby came back, O’Brien’s execution would have happened. He revealed the tragedy of his mission to the Colonel.