"He don't know!" I gasped. "Mr Reardon--sit--lie--lay him down, my
lads. Don't you know you are badly hurt?"
"I! hurt?" he cried. "No; I felt him hit me, but it was nothing."
I reached up my trembling hand, but he caught it as it touched his
shoulder, and was in the act of snatching it away, when his own came in
contact with the handle of the knife.
"Great heavens!" he ejaculated, as he drew it forth from where it was
sticking through the stiff collar of his coat; "right through from side
to side--what a narrow escape!"
"I--I thought he had killed you," I cried faintly, and a deathly
sensation made me feel for the moment as if I must fall.
"No, not a scratch," he said firmly now. "A little memento," he
muttered, as he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it round the blade
before thrusting the knife in his breast-pocket. "I must keep that for
my private museum, Herrick. Here, my lads, throw something over that
wretch. Sentry, I'll talk to you later on. You saved my life."
"Officer's orders, sir," said the man, looking uncomfortable and stiff
as he drew himself up.
"What, to save my life?" said Mr Reardon, smiling, and trying to look
as if everything had been part of the ordinary business of life.
"No, sir; to keep my eye on the Chinees. I had mine on that chap, for
he looked ugly at you, and I see him pull himself together, shuffle in
his blue jacket, and then make a jump at you, just like a cat at a rat."
"What?"
"Beg pardon, sir," said the man awkwardly; "I don't mean to say as you
looked like a rat."
"I hope not, my lad."
"I meant him jumping like a cat."
"Yes; and you saw him springing at me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what then?"
"Only bayonet practice, sir--point from guard, and he came right on it."
"Yes?"
"Then I held him down, sir."