He cocked one eye up at me.
"It would seem so, sir."
"The fellow with the gray chin beard was Irish, wasn't he?"
"He might be, sir."
"A Swede, an Irishman, and an Indian," I said musingly. "That makes a nice combination for the Queen's Rangers. Come now, Peter, give me the straight of all this."
He stopped with his fork in a bit of meat, favoring me with another stare.
"I think I fail to comprehend, sir."
"No, you don't, you rascal," a bit of anger in my voice. "Did you bring this supper yourself, or were you sent here?"
"Under orders, sir."
"The lieutenant?"