"It depends," he said at last.
"How depends?" I asked indignantly. "He told me to go and boil my——"
"Exactly. So that it depends on who told you. If it was the Sergeant of the Guard whom you accidentally addressed——"
"Help!" I murmured, struck by a horrible fear.
"In that case," went on James, "it would be your duty to obey orders. Obtaining a large saucepan of fresh water, you would heat it to, approximately, 212 degrees Fahrenheit, at which point bubbles would begin to appear upon the surface of the pan. Then, immersing the head until the countenance assumed a ripe beetroot colour, you would return it to the Sergeant of the Guard, salute, and ask him if he had any further instructions to give you ... No," added James, "I think I am wrong there. It would not be necessary for you to salute. Only commissioned officers are saluted in the British Army."
I had been thinking furiously while James was speaking.
"It wasn't the sergeant," I said eagerly. "I'm sure it wasn't. I noticed him particularly when we were forming up. No, James, it was an ordinary private."
"In that case the position is more complicated. On the whole I think it would be your duty to convene a court-martial and have the fellow shot."
I looked at my watch.
"How long does it take to convene a court martial?" I asked. "I've never convened one before."