As the Captain's heavy cavalry stride shakes Nixey's roof, the upright,
lightly-built soldierly figure in khaki turns and comes towards him,
giving the binoculars in charge to the Sergeant-Major of Irregulars, who
is his orderly of the day.
"I want a word with you, Wrynche. Rawlings will take the glasses. Come in
here under cover."
He leads the way. The cover is a canvas shelter, perhaps a protection from
the blazing sun, but none at all from shell and bullets. There are a
couple of wooden chairs under its flimsy spread and a little table. The
Chief sits down astride on one of the chairs, accepts a cigar from Captain
Bingo's enormous crocodile-leather case, and says, as the first ring of
blue smoke goes wavering upwards:
"You'll be glad to know that Monboia's Barala runner has got through with
good news _for you_." The last two words are rather strongly emphasised.
"Just before dawn and after Beauvayse relieved you at Staff Bombproof
South."
Captain Bingo swallows violently, runs a thick finger round inside his
collar, and his big face goes through several changes of complexion,
ranging from boiled suet-dumpling paleness to beetroot red. He looks away
and blinks before he says in a voice that wobbles:
"Then my wife's--all right?"
"Lady Hannah and her German attendant, as far back as the day before
yesterday, when Monboia's man saw them, were in the enjoyment of excellent
health."
"Poof!" Captain Bingo blows a genuine sigh of relief, and the latent
lugubriousness departs from him. "Good hearing. I've had--call it
hippopotamus on the chest this two months, and you'll about hit the mark.
Uncertainty and suspense get on a man's nerves, in the long-run. Bound to.
And never a word--the deuce a line--all these---- Poof!" He blows again,
and beams. The Colonel, watching him out of the corner of one keen eye,
says, with a twitching muscle in the cheek that is turned away from him:
"My good news being told, I have a slice of bad for you. But first let me
make an admission. Since Nixey's pony pulled Nixey's spider out of
Gueldersdorp with Lady Hannah and her maid in it, I have had three
communications from your wife."
"You're pullin' my leg, sir, ain't you?" queries Bingo doubtfully.
"Not a bit of it."
In confirmation of the statement he takes out a shabby pocket-book, fat
with official documents, and, unstrapping it, selects three, and hands
them to Bingo. They are flimsy sheets of tissue-paper covered with spidery
characters in violet ink, and Bingo, taking them, recognises the
handwriting, and is, as he states without hesitation, confoundedly
flabbergasted.
"For they are in my wife's wild scrawl," he splutters at last. "How on
earth did they reach you, sir?"
"The first was brought in by a native boy who said he belonged to the
kraals at Tweipans," says the Chief. "Boiled small and stuffed into a
quill stuck through his ear in the usual way. He trumped up a glib story
about his cow having been killed and his new wife beaten by Brounckers'
men, and his desire to be revenged, and oblige the English lady who'd been
kind to him----"
"Umph! Native gratitude don't run to being skinned alive with
sjamboks--not much!" the other comments. "Chap must have been lyin', or a
kind of nigger Phoenix."
"Exactly. So I couldn't find it in my heart to part with him. He's on the
coloured side of the gaol now, with two others, who subsequently landed in
with the documents you have in hand there."
"Am I to read 'em?" Bingo queries.
His commanding officer nods, with the muscle in his lean cheek twitching.
"Certainly. Aloud, if you'll be so good."
Bingo reads, with haltings on the way, for the tissue sheets stick to his
large fingers, which are damp with suppressed agitation:
"HAARGROND PLAATS,
"NEAR TWEIPANS,
"_October 30th_.
"_To the Colonel Commanding Her Majesty's Forces in
Gueldersdorp._
"SIR,--I beg to report myself arrived at the above address,
twelve miles distant from the head laager of the Boer
Commandant, General Brounckers. I have to inform you that an
attack will be made on Maxim Kopje South by a large force of
the enemy with guns in the beginning of November.
"I have the honour to be,
"On Secret Service,
"Yours most obediently,
"H. WRYNCHE."
Bingo stares blankly at his Chief, the sheets of crumpled tissue wavering
between his thick, agitated fingers.
"I got that letter exactly a week after the attack had been made and
successfully resisted," says the Colonel's dry, quiet voice. "Read the
four lines in a different hand and ink, that are underlined at the bottom,
and tell me what you think of 'em."
Bingo obeyed, and read:
"_Lady's information perfectly correct. We hope this
intelligence will reach you in time to be useful._
"_I have the honour to be,_
"P. BLINDERS,
"_Acting-Secretary to General_
"_Brounckers._"
"By the Living Tinker!" exploded Bingo.
"Don't be prodigal of emotion," the Colonel's quiet voice warns the
excited husband. "There are two more letters following. Read 'em in the
proper sequence. That one with the inky design at the top, that might be
the pattern for a pair of fancy pyjamas--that's the next."
Bingo reads as follows:
"KINK'S HOTEL,
"TWEIPANS,
"_November 28th_.
_"To the Colonel Commanding H. M. Forces in Gueldersdorp._
"SIR,--I beg to report myself arrived at Tweipans. I have
the honour to enclose herewith a sketch-plan of the village
and the disposition of General Brounckers' laager. Trusting
you may find it useful,
"I have the honour to be,
"On Secret Service,
"Yours most obediently,
"H. WRYNCHE."
The sarcastic P. Blinders had appended an italicised comment:
"_His Honour considers the above sketch-plan remarkably
faithful. The building next the Gerevormed Kerk, indicated
by an X, is the gaol. Comfortable cells at your disposal,
which we are keeping vacant._
"P. BLINDERS."
"D-a-a----"
The Chief does not happen to be looking Bingo's way as the infuriated
husband menaces with a large clenched fist an imaginary countenance
attached to the conjectural personality of the sportive P. Blinders.
"Swear--it will bring the blood down from your head," advises the dry,
quiet voice. "But don't tear up the papers!--they're too amusing to lose."
"Amusin'!" growls Bingo, with smarting eyes, and a lumpy throat, and a
tingling in his large muscles which P. Blinders, being out of reach, can
afford to provoke. "You wouldn't think it amusin', sir, if it were your
wife, making herself a--a figure of fun for those Dutch bounders to shy
at."
This is the third letter:
"_December 23rd._
"_To the Colonel Commanding, Gueldersdorp._
"SIR,--I have to report that the sortie you have planned to
take place on the morning of the 26th, for the capture of
the enemy's big gun, is known to General Brounckers, and
that the menaced position will be strengthened and manned to
resist you.
"Obediently,
"H. WRYNCHE."
Underneath is the sarcastic comment:
"_December 27th._
"_Nice if you had got this in time, eh? And we wanted those
boots and badges._
"_P. B._"
"She got hold of a nugget that once, anyway," says Captain Bingo, blowing
his nose emphatically; "and--by the Living Tinker! if it _had_ reached us
in time, we'd have saved a loss of twenty-one killed and stripped, and
twenty-two wounded, and the stingin' shame of a whippin' into the
bargain."
"Perhaps," says the Colonel, with a careworn shadow on the keen, sagacious
face, and both men are silent, remembering an assault the desperate,
reckless valour of which deserves to be bracketed in memory with the
Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, "If Defeat is ever shame,
perhaps, Wrynche. But if you could put the question to each of that
handful of brave men sleeping side by side over there"--he nods in the
direction of the Cemetery, where the aftermath of Death's red harvest has
sprung up in orderly rows of little white crosses--"they would tell you it
can be more glorious than victory."
"Of course, you're right, sir. I gather now what your bad news is," says
Bingo, who has been dejectedly rubbing his finger along the bristly edges
of his sandy moustache, for a minute past. "Judgin' by the marginal
annotations of this man Blinders--brute I'd kick to Cape Town with
pleasure--my wife's a prisoner in Brounckers' hands?"
"An unconscious prisoner--yes. Give 'em their due, Wrynche. I shouldn't
have credited 'em with the sense of humour they have displayed in their
dealings with her."
If it were possible for Bingo to grow redder in the face, one would say
that he has done so, as he bursts out, in a violent perspiration, striding
up and down over Nixey's sheet-leaded roof.
"Confound their humour! It's the humour of tom-cats playin' with a--a
dashed little silly dicky-bird. It's the humour of aasvogels watchin' a
shot rock-rabbit kick. It's the humour of the battledore and the
shuttlecock. And I'm the dicky-bird's mate and the bunny's better-half,
and the other shuttlecock of the pair, and may I be blessed if I can take
it smilin'!" He mops his scarlet and dripping face, and puffs and blows
like a large military walrus on dry land.
"Perhaps you'll manage a smile when you've read this?"
Bingo stops in his stride, wheels, and receives an official document on
blue paper. Under the date of the previous day, it runs as follows:
"HEAD LAAGER,
"TWEIPANS,
"_January --th_.
"_To the Colonel Commanding the British Forces in
Gueldersdorp._
"SIR,--In reply to your communication I am instructed by
General Brounckers to inform you that our prisoner, the
Englishwoman who came here in the character of a German
drummer's refugee-widow to act as your spy, will be
exchanged for a free Boer of the Transvaal Republic, by
name, Myjnheer W. Slabberts, who is at present confined
under the Yellow Flag in Gueldersdorp gaol. The exchange
will be effected by parties under the White Flag at a given
point North-East between the lines of investment and defence
one hour before Kerk-time to-morrow, being the Sabbath.
"I have the honour to be yours truly,
"P. BLINDERS,
"_Acting-Secretary to General_
"_Brounckers._"
"P.S.--_The young lady of German extraction who accompanied
the Englishwoman has entered into an engagement to remain
here._
"_P. B._"
"P.SS.--_The engagement is with yours truly, the young lady
having conformed to the faith of the Gerevormed Kerk. We are
to be married next Sunday. Would you like us to send you
some wedding-cake?_
"_P. B._"
Blinders has certainly had the last dig, but his principal victim fails
this time to wince or bellow under the point of his humour. With his big
face changing from red to white, and from white to crimson half a dozen
times in as many seconds, Captain Bingo says, refolding the paper and
returning it with a shaky hand:
"Then she--she----"
A lump in his throat slides down and sticks.
"Gerevormed Kerk-time is eleven o'clock." The Colonel looks at his shabby
Waterbury, as the brisk clatter of cantering horse-hoofs breaks up the
Sabbath stillness of the Market Square, and an orderly, leading an
officer's charger, halts before Nixey's door. "The B.S.A. escort, with
their man, are due to leave the gaol in ten minutes' time. Here's your
orderly with your mount, and you've eight minutes to change in."
"One minute, sir," Captain Bingo utters with an effort. "This man--this
Slabberts--is a well-known spy--a trump card in Brounckers' hand, or he
wouldn't be so anxious to get hold of him. And therefore--by this
exchange--and a woman's dashed ambitious folly--you may lose heavily in
the end...."
"I don't deny it." The haggard shadow is again upon the Colonel's face, or
is it that Bingo's radiance dulls neighbouring surfaces by comparison?
"But don't let the thought of it spoil your good hour." The smile in the
eyes that have so many lines about them is kind, if the mouth under the
red-brown moustache is stern and sorrowful. "We don't have many of 'em.
Off with you and meet her!"
Captain Bingo tries to say something more, but makes a hash of it; and
with eyes that fairly run over, can only grip the kindly hand again and
again, assuring its owner, with numerous references to the Living Tinker,
that he is the most thundering brick on earth. Then, overthrowing the
small table and one of the chairs, he plunges down the narrow iron
stairway to get into what he calls his kit. Six minutes later, correct to
a buckle and a puttee-fold, he salutes his commanding officer, nodding
pleasantly to him from Nixey's roof, and buckets down the street at a
tremendous gallop, the happiest man in Gueldersdorp, with this shout
following him:
"My regards to Lady Hannah. And tell her that the Staff dine on gee-gee at
six o'clock sharp, and I shall be charmed if she'll join us."