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"Since Lanstron became chief of intelligence of the Browns information seems to have stopped," said Westerling, but not complainingly. He appreciated Bouchard's loyalty. "Yes, they say he even burns his laundry bills, he is so careful," Bouchard replied. "But that we ought to know," Westerling proceeded, referring very insistently to a secret of the Browns which had baffled Bouchard.
I know where they are strong in the first line and and one place where they are weak there and a place where they are weak in the main line!" "You do!" Westerling exploded. The plans of the enemy! The plans that neither Bouchard's saturnine cunning, nor bribes, nor spies could ascertain! It was like the bugle-call to the hunter. But he controlled himself. "Yes, yes!" He was thoughtful and guarded.
In the morning, I bring a catheter with me, and when Bouchard's wounds are dressed, I apply it, for unfortunately, he can no longer perform certain functions independently. Bouchard has crossed his hands behind the nape of his neck, and watches the process with a certain interest. I ask: "Did I hurt you? Is it very unpleasant?"
The attack on Engadir being the jewel of Westerling's own planning, he was disinclined to risk success by delegating authority, which also meant sharing the glory of victory. Bouchard's note, though officially dismissed as a matter of pathology, would not accept dismissal privately.
Tell me! tell me!" she insisted when he stopped before her, his expression a strange mixture of defiance and dissatisfaction while he was searching the wall around her figure. Before his eye had any inclination to look as far away from her as the button she stepped free of the wall and laid her hand on Bouchard's arm. "I can't wait! I've nearly perished of suspense!" she cried.
His pride was recovering its natural confidence in the infallibility of his judgment of human beings. He was seeing his suspicions as ridiculous enough to convict him of a brain as disordered as Bouchard's. Marta was thinking that she had been skating on very thin ice and that she must go on skating till she broke through.
The strange impression that this farewell left with Bellini still lingered when, a few moments later, Westerling summoned him. Not alone the diffidence of a new member of the staff going into the Presence accounted for the stir in his temples, as he waited till some papers were signed before he had Westerling's attention. Then Westerling picked up Bouchard's note and shook his head sadly.
The unanswerable evidence is on the chief of staff's desk awaiting his arrival." Bouchard's hawk eyes probed hers for an instant longer and seemed to find nothing to call further curiosity; then he lifted his cap and proceeded with his tour of inspection.
But Bouchard had wasted two words. "Your name and regiment?" he asked. "Hugo Mallin, of the 128th," replied Hugo. "Uh-h!" Bouchard's pigeonhole memory had retained the name. "Charge mutiny under fire; anarchism!" he went on, chopping out the words as if they were chips from a piece of granite. "Well, you have not escaped trial by hiding."
That tiny push-button on the panel, of the color of stone, was in the shadow of her figure against the lantern's rays, which gave a glazed and haunted effect to Bouchard's eyes, rolling as he studied the walls and ceiling and floor of the tunnel in final baffled and desperate inquiry. "Did you see anything? Did you go into all the dungeons?" Marta called to him. Bouchard did not answer.
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