"May you have it?" Silk smiled, folding the sketch and handing it to him. "Why, cert'nly. You're welcome to it. It has served its purpose."
Percy looked at him sharply. There was an expression of curious satisfaction in the Sergeant's clear blue eyes.
"Do you mean——?" he began, but checked himself.
He had not known, had not noticed, that the man Eben Sharrow had crept into the warmth of the fire; but he saw him now, kneeling near and holding his trembling hands to the flames.
"Say, my man, there's a mouthful of soup in that bowl," said Silk. "You may as well take it."
Sharrow shook his head.
"I've had some," he responded, his teeth chattering. "Thank you all the same."
He said no word of what Sergeant Silk had done for him, but lapsed into sullen silence, the while he crouched shivering beside the fire. But presently he roused himself and moved half round, facing his rescuer.
"Sergeant?" he said.
"Well?" returned Silk.