The Dop Doctor Part 55

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 a.s.sault 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 d.i.c.ky-bird. It's the humour of aasvogels watchin' a shot rock-rabbit kick. It's the humour of the battledore and the shuttlec.o.c.k. And I'm the d.i.c.ky-bird's mate and the bunny's better-half, and the other shuttlec.o.c.k 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 doc.u.ment on blue paper. Under the date of the previous day, it runs as follows: