"Well, I hear you go ahead," said I. "You put your heart in it."
He crossed his legs slowly. "I can very well understand," he began, "that precautions have had to be taken. I daresay an oath was administered. I can comprehend that perfectly." (He was watching me all the time with his cold, bright eyes.) "And I can comprehend that, about an affair of honour, you would be very particular to keep it."
"About an affair of honour?" I repeated, like a man quite puzzled.
"It was not an affair of honour, then?" he asked.
"What was not? I do not follow," said I.
He gave no sign of impatience; simply sat awhile silent, and began again in the same placid and good-natured voice: "The court and I were at one in setting aside your evidence. It could not deceive a child. But there was a difference between myself and the other officers, because I knew my man and they did not. They saw in you a common soldier, and I knew you for a gentleman. To them your evidence was a leash of lies, which they yawned to hear you telling. Now, I was asking myself, how far will a gentleman go? Not surely so far as to help hush a murder up? So that—when I heard you tell how you knew nothing of the matter, and were only awakened by the corporal, and all the rest of it—I translated your statements into something else. Now, Champdivers," he cried, springing up lively and coming towards me with animation, "I am going to tell you what that was, and you are going to help me to see justice done: how, I don't know, for of course you are under oath—but somehow. Mark what I'm going to say."
At that moment he laid a heavy, hard grip upon my shoulder; and whether he said anything more or came to
