"Oh, you've more than wan wife, eh?" asked Spud.
"No! No! One wifes."
"You're a spy," roared Micky, advancing under the cover of a broom.
"I keel you! I keel you!" shrieked the foreigner.
"Awa' an' kill yer granny," roared the intrepid Militiaman, striking him with the broom and wresting the knife right out of his hand.
"No keel me—no keel me—kind shentlemans. I give you moneys—wheesky—ceegars."
[pg 106] "Noo, you're talkin'," said Spud. "Oot wi' it." From his trunk the terrified Teuton disgorged his gold, his fine Havannas, and a bottle of Special Scotch. This loot was quickly collared and lodged in various pockets.
"An' noo tell me whaur these ither Germans stay?" asked Tamson.
"Away! They mobilised. Gone Shermanys."
"When?"