"I—I have been the victim of an outrage, sir!"
"Sorry to hear it; what's your name?"
"Brooker, sir," volunteered W. Keyse's Corporal. "The other sentry we put on with Keyse here."
"Mr. Brooker, sir, General Stores, Market Square," babbled the citizen.
"Well, Private Brooker, what have you to say?"
"I have been drugged or hypnotised, sir, and robbed of my gun while in a state of insensibility, sir—upon my honour as an Alderman and Magistrate of this borough! Swear me, sir, if you have any doubt of my veracity!" He flapped his hands like fins, and his bandolier heaved above a labouring bosom.
The Commander of the picket looked preternaturally grave.
"Very sorry, Private Brooker, but unless the Sergeant has brought his Testament along, you'll have to give your information in the ordinary way. So they drugged you or hypnotised you—or both, was it?—and took away your rifle. Of course you saw it done?"
"No, sir, I did not see it done. When I woke up ..."
"Ah, when you woke up! Please go on."