“Did you recognise that he was not one of the soldiers, then?”
“Perfectly. He was not dressed as they are. They were entirely muffled up with hoods drawn forward above their faces. And in their hands one could see their guns. This man was bareheaded, and looked half naked. And in his hands—”
She stopped meditatively.
“Was there anything in his hands?”
“Well—yes, there was.”
“What?”
“I wanted to know what it was. But at first I only lay quite still and wished the wind would come again and blow the flap up so that I could see out. But it had quite gone down. The canvas did not even quiver.”
“Was it near dawn?”
“I haven't an idea. Does the breeze sink then?”