Brandon of the Engineers. Harold Bindloss
investigate the matter and you’ll take him this. Report yourself to him or to the Adjutant when you reach camp. I’ll telegraph to see if you have done so.”
He raised his hand in sign of dismissal and Dick went out, crushed with shame, and feeling that he was already under arrest. If he were not in camp when the telegram came, he would be treated as a deserter.
CHAPTER III
THE PUNISHMENT
On reaching camp and reporting himself, Dick was sent to his tent, where he slept until he was aroused by the bustle at reveille. He had not expected to sleep; but he was young and physically tired, and the shock of trouble had, as sometimes happens, a numbing effect. He awoke refreshed and composed, though his heart was heavy as he dressed, because he feared it was the last time that he would wear his country’s uniform. The suspense was trying as he waited until the morning parade was over; then he was summoned to a tent where the Colonel and the Adjutant sat.
“I have a telegram asking if you have arrived,” the Colonel said in a curious, dry tone. “You must understand that you have laid yourself open to grave suspicion.”
“Yes,” Dick answered, wondering whether the Colonel meant that it might have been better if he had run away.
“Very well. You admitted having received the plans. What did you do with them?”
“Buttoned them into the left pocket of my coat. When I got to Storeton, the envelope was gone.”
“How do you account for that?”
“I can’t account for it, sir.”
The Colonel was silent for a few moments, and then he looked fixedly at Dick.
“Your statements were very unsatisfactory last night, and now that you have had time to think over the matter, I advise you to be frank. It’s plain that you have been guilty of gross negligence, but that is not the worst. The drawings are of no direct use to the enemy, but if they fell into their hands they might supply a valuable hint of the use to which we mean to put the pontoons. You see what this implies?”
“I don’t know how we mean to use them, sir, and I don’t want to hide anything.”
“That’s a wise resolve,” the Colonel answered meaningly; and Dick colored. After all, there was something he meant to hide.
“You took the plans with you when you left the camp, three or four hours before you were due at Storeton,” said the Adjutant. “Where did you go?”
“To my cousin’s rooms in the town.”
“Mr. Lance Brandon’s,” said the Adjutant thoughtfully. “Did you stay there?”
“No; we dined at The George.”
“A well-conducted house,” the Adjutant remarked. “You took some wine at dinner?”
“Two glasses of light claret.”
“Then where did you go next?”
“To the new music-hall.”
“And ordered drinks in the bar! Who suggested this?”
“I can’t remember,” Dick replied with an angry flush. “Of course, I see where you’re leading, but I was quite sober when I left the hall.”
The Adjutant’s expression puzzled him. He had felt that the man was not unfriendly, and now he looked disappointed.
“I’m not sure your statement makes things better,” the Colonel observed with some dryness. “Did you go straight to Storeton from the hall?”
“No, sir. I spent an hour at a friend’s house.”
“Whose house was it?”
Dick pondered for a few moments, and then looked up resolutely.
“I must decline to answer, sir. I’ve lost the plans and must take the consequences; but I don’t see why my private friends, who have nothing to do with it, should be involved in the trouble.”
The Adjutant leaned forward across the table and said something quietly to the Colonel, and neither of them spoke for the next minute or two. Dick was sensible of physical as well as mental strain as he stood stiffly in the middle of the tent. His knees felt weak, little quivers ran through his limbs, and a ray of hot sunshine struck through the hooked-back flap into his face, but he dared not relax his rigid pose.
The two officers looked puzzled but grave.
“Go back to your tent and stay there until I send for you,” the Colonel said at last.
Dick saluted and went out, and when he sat down on his camp-bed he moodily lighted a cigarette and tried to think. His military career was ended and he was ruined; but this was not what occupied him most. He was wondering whether Clare Kenwardine had taken the plans. If so, it was his duty to accuse her; but, actuated by some mysterious impulse, he had refused.
The longer he thought about it, the clearer her guilt became. He was a stranger and yet she had suggested a stroll through the garden and had slipped and clutched him as they went down the steps. Her hand had rested on the pocket in which the envelope was. She was the daughter of a man who kept a private gaming house; it was not surprising that she was an adventuress and had deceived him by her clever acting. For all that, he could not condemn her; there was a shadow of doubt; and even if she were guilty, she had yielded to some strong pressure from her father. His feelings, however, were puzzling. He had spent less than an hour in her society and she had ruined him, but he knew that he would remember her as long as he lived.
Dick’s common sense led him to smile bitterly. He was behaving like a sentimental fool. On the whole, it was a relief when the Adjutant came in.
“You must have known what the Colonel’s decision would be,” he said with a hint of regret. “You’re to be court-martialed. If you take my advice, you’ll keep nothing back.”
The court-martial was over and Dick could not question the justice of its sentence—he was dismissed from the army. Indeed, it was better than he had expected. Somewhat to his surprise, the Adjutant afterward saw him alone.
“I’m thankful our official duty’s done,” he said. “Of course, I’m taking an irregular line, and if you prefer not to talk—”
“You made me feel that you wanted to be my friend,” Dick replied awkwardly.
“Then I may, perhaps, remark that you made a bad defense. In the army, it’s better to tell a plausible tale and stick to it; we like an obvious explanation. Now if you had admitted being slightly drunk.”
“But I was sober!”
The Adjutant smiled impatiently.
“So much the worse for you! If you had been drunk, you’d have been turned out all the same, but the reason would have been, so to speak, satisfactory. Now you’re tainted by a worse suspicion. Personally, I don’t think the lost plans have any value, but if they had, it might have gone very hard with you.” He paused and gave Dick a friendly glance. “Well, in parting, I’ll give you a bit of advice. Stick to engineering, which you have a talent for.”
He went out and not long afterward Dick left the camp in civilian’s clothes, but stopped his motorcycle on the hill and stood looking back with a pain at his heart. He saw the rows of tents stretched across the smooth pasture, the flag he had been proud to serve languidly flapping on the gentle breeze, and the water sparkling about the bridge. Along the riverside,