'This afternoon, about four, to be exact' Eames broke in.
'We went over to Wontner's quarters to talk things over. The row only happened last night, and we found him writing letters as hard as he could to his father—getting up his case for the War Office, you know. He read us some of 'em, but I'm not a good judge of style. We tried to ride him off quietly—apologies and so forth—but it was the milk-punch and mayonnaise that defeated us.'
'Yes, he wasn't taking anything except pure revenge,' said Eames.
'He said he'd make an example of the regiment, and he was particularly glad that he'd landed our Colonel. He told us so. Old Dhurrah-bags don't sympathise with Wontner's tactical lectures. He says Wontner ought to learn manners first, but we thought' Trivett turned to Eames, who was less a son of the house than himself, Eames' father being still alive.
'Then,' Eames went on, 'he became rather noisome, and we thought we might as well impound the correspondence'—he wrinkled his swelled left eye—'and after that, we got him to take a seat in my car.'
'He was in a sack, you know,' Trivett explained. 'He wouldn't go any other way. But we didn't hurt him.'
'Oh no! His head's sticking out quite clear, and'—Eames rushed the fence—'we've put him in your garage—er pendente lite.'
'My garage!' Infant's voice nearly broke with horror.
