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"Why not?" asked Wyley. Scrope shrugged his shoulders. "I should need an example before I believed you." The example was at the door. The corporal of the guard at the Catherine Port knocked and was admitted.
What perplexed Wyley, on the other hand, was Scrope's subordinate rank of lieutenant in a garrison where, from the frequency of death, promotion was of the quickest. He sat there at the table, a lieutenant; a boy of twenty-four faced him, and the boy was a captain and his superior. It was to the Lieutenant, however, that Wyley resumed his discourse.
"There is something amiss," he said, "since even Captain Scrope retains no memory of his old comrade." "Captain?" exclaimed Wyley. So Scrope had been more than a lieutenant. Here was an answer to the question which had perplexed him. But it only led to another question: "Had Scrope been degraded, and why?"
Passion has its way with us in the end, and honour comes to mean no more than bravery and a gallant death." He remained a few moments silent, and then disconnectedly he told Wyley the rest of the story. "It was only three years ago that Knightley came to Tangier. He should never have brought his wife with him. Scrope and Knightley became friends.
Blame our surprise, not us." "Meanwhile," said Wyley, "Ensign Knightley's starving." The Major pressed Knightley into a chair, called for an orderly, and bade him bring food. Wyley filled a glass with wine from the bottle on the table, and handed it to the Ensign. "It is vinegar," he said, "but " "But Tangier is still Tangier," said Knightley with a laugh.
Wyley began again to wonder at what particular point in this story Knightley's recollection broke off; and, further, what particular fear it was that kept him from all questions even concerning his wife. Knightley's voice was heard behind them, and they turned back into the room.
It was quite carelessly uttered while the Lieutenant was picking up his cards. Surgeon Wyley shifted his chair towards the table, and accepted the correction. "Except, of course, by hearsay." Wyley was a new-comer to Tangier, having sailed into the bay less than a week back; but he had been long enough in the town to find in Scrope a subject at once of interest and perplexity.
Now Wyley had noticed that when the corporal first mentioned the word, Scrope, who was looking over his cards, had dropped one on the table as though his hand shook, had raised his head sharply, and with his head his eyebrows, and had stared for a second fixedly at the wall in front of him. So he said to Scrope: "You can remember." "Yes, I remember the password," Scrope replied simply.
James Wyley, the elder brother, was the owner of Botfield works, and the master of all the people employed in them, besides being the agent of the lord of the manor. So both these men possessed great authority over the poor; and they used the power to oppress them and grind them down to the utmost.
"Why, man, the very good friend I fought with was Ensign Knightley. The woman on whose account we fought was Knightley's wife." He flung the words at the Surgeon with almost a gesture of contempt. "Make the most of that!" And once again he began to pace the room. "I am not in the least surprised," returned Wyley with an easy smile. "Though I admit that I am interested.
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