The corporal stood with his back to the door, and gave himself mental words of
command,—“Eyes left, eyes right,”—then, as a last resource,—“eyes under the
table.” He had not noticed the little bundle in the dark corner. He drew himself
up and gave the military salute.
“Beg pardon, sir, but we are out for a deserter from the 58th,—Bill Hulish,—we
’ave tracked him ’ere, and with the compliments of the commanding hofficer,
we’ll search the ’ouse.”
“Search away,” I answered, as I heard the outside bath-room door open and
close softly.
They returned empty-handed, but not greatly disappointed.
“Wet night, corporal,” I ventured.
“One of the worst as ever I knew, sir,” he replied, eying the whiskey bottle and
the two half-drained glasses.
“’Ad a long march, sir, fourteen miles.”
I pushed the bottle toward him, and with a deprecatory salute he turned out a
stiff drink.
“’Ere’s to yer ’ealth, sir, an’ may ye always ’ave an extra glass ready for a
visitor.”
I smiled, and motioned for his men to do likewise, and then, because he was a
man of sweet composure and had not asked any questions as to the extra glass
and chair, told him that his bird had flown.
“Bad ’cess to him, sir, ’e’s led us a pretty chase for these last four weeks. If ’e
was only a deserter I wouldn’t mind, but ’e’s a kidnapper. Leastways, Tommy
Loud’s young’n turned up missin’ the day he skipped, an’ we ain’t seen nothin’
of ’er since.”
“Is this she?” I asked, leading him to the cot.
Hardly looking at the child, he raised her in his arms and kissed her.