“And dee-d malingerers, in my opinion!� said Sir Alured.
“I’m with you there, sir,� responded the Assassin with a twinkle. Then he relapsed into professional gravity, and said as he accepted a cigar and a peg, “There are one or two bad cases of relapse, I’m sorry to say—as the result of incautious indulgence in alcoholic beverages.�
“Of course, of course!� growled Sir Alured. “When a man with a granulated stomach uses the organ as a receptacle for whisky, beer, and gin, contributed in unlimited quantities by admirin’ friends, he oughtn’t to be surprised when he finds himself drivin’ to the cemetery on a gun carriage to the tune of the Dead March in Saul, with his boots following as chief mourners. Stands to reason!�
“I don’t anticipate any serious results, except in the case of Sergeant Donohoe,� the Assassin said, with a worried look in his usually cheerful countenance.
“Donohoe down again. Poor devil! I’m sorry to hear it!� The Chief tugged at the ends of the great white moustache and looked grave.
“Only yesterday,� said the Senior Major, “I thought him looking about as fit as a man needs to be. He told me about Juxon’s engagement to his daughter, and went off as pleased as Punch——�
“To drink their healths,� interpolated the Assassin.
“Hah! That’s about it,� grumbled the Chief. “Well, I shall go round and look Donohoe up presently. Can’t afford to lose my Senior Color-Sergeant, you know, don’t you know!� Sir Alured frowned savagely, and cleared his throat with ominous vigor.
“You’ll find him pretty low down,� said the Assassin, “and I fancy Father Haggarty will be on duty. They’d sent for him before I came away.�
“Is it as bad as that?� said the Senior Major, and there was a moment’s silence, broken by a clinking step on the stone flags outside and a respectful knock on the glass door.