Von Herrnung stopped short. Bawne asked simply, and with the same straight look between the eyes:
"Did you fight with the Boers against us in the War?"
Von Herrnung did not seem to have heard. He had caught the drift of a sentence spoken by Sherbrand, who was answering to a question of the Chief Scout.
"Oh yes! I live here—have quarters over Mrs. Dunlett's restaurant—you could communicate with me practically at any time. We've the 'phone and a private telegraph-office, and the wireless—under the usual licence from the Postmaster-General."
He pointed towards the well-known tall posts with the short cross-pieces, china insulators and lines of thick wire, standing beside the telegraph-cabin, over the roof of which straddled the wireless installation's tall, latticed steel mast.
"We find it useful for business as well as instructional purposes," he went on. "Macrombie—the man in charge—is a one-time Royal Navy Petty Officer Telegraphist and a first-class operator." Sherbrand's mouth twisted a little at the corners as he added: "About twenty-four days out of thirty, let us say!"
The quick rejoinder came:
"Then he's D.O.D. two working days in the month, not counting Sundays. I've met plenty of Macrombies in my time. This doesn't happen to be the monthly pay-day, by any chance, or one of the other close days in its neighbourhood?"
"No, no! He's as right as rain and as sober as a seal," said Sherbrand. "And—this tall fellow with red hair must be the man who has written to me upon business. I shall have to go to him."
They exchanged a left-handed grip, mutually smiling.