Then the door was banged, and West leaped from his stool and made a
dash.
"Stop, stupid!" thundered out Ingleborough, supplementing his words by a
bound and flinging his arm round his companion's chest. "Let the brute
go. You don't want to kick him?"
"But I do," shouted West, struggling. "Let go."
"Keep still," growled Ingleborough, and then, "Why, Noll," he cried, "I
do believe--"
"What?" said West, cooling down and looking wonderingly in his
companion's excited eyes, for Ingleborough had stopped short.
"That flute--that sword-cane--"
"Well, he has got them. Bah! I'm glad you stopped me from punching his
head. Let him have them; they're his."
"Yes," said Ingleborough; "but the handle of the cane and the top joint
of the flute. There was room for a dozen big diamonds in each."
"What! Then let's go and stop him!"
"Yes; we could but be wrong. Come on."
"Hah! Listen," cried West, and a sound arose which turned their
thoughts in a different channel, for it was like the first note of the
coming war.
The trumpet rang out the "assemblee" and thrilled both through and
through, sending them to the arm-press for rifle and bandolier.
Clerking was over for many months to come. The pen was to give way to
the modern substitute for the sword.