For some moments Laguerre regarded him sternly, but I do not think he saw him. He turned and walked a few steps from us and back again. Then he gave an upward toss of his head as though he had accepted his sentence. “The fortunes of war,” he kept repeating to himself, “the fortunes of war.” He looked up and saw us regarding him with expressions of the deepest concern.
“I thought I had had my share of them,” he said, simply. He straightened his shoulders and frowned, and then looked at us and tried to smile. But the bad news had cut deeply. During the few minutes since he had come pushing his way through the crowd, he seemed to have grown ten years older. He walked to the door of his tent and then halted and turned toward Reeder.
“I think my fever is coming on again,” he said. “I believe I had better rest. Do not let them disturb me.”
“Yes, General,” Reeder answered. Then he pointed at Aiken and myself. “And what are we to do with these?” he asked.
“Do with these?” Laguerre repeated. “Why, what did you mean to do with them?”
Reeder swelled out his chest importantly, “If you had not arrived when you did, General,” he said, “I would have had them shot!”
The General stopped at the entrance to the tent and leaned heavily against the pole. He raised his eyes and looked at us wearily and with no show of interest.
“Shoot them?” he asked. “Why were you going to shoot them?”
“Because, General,” Reeder declared, theatrically, pointing an accusing finger at Aiken, “I believe this man sold our secret to the Isthmian Line. No one knew of the guns but our three selves and Quay. And Quay is not a man to betray his friends. I wish I could say as much for Mr. Aiken.”
At that moment Aiken, being quite innocent, said even less for himself, and because he was innocent looked the trapped and convicted criminal.