Читать книгу No More Parades онлайн

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A tender butler's voice said beside him: "This ain't your job, sir. Sorry you had to do it.... Lucky it wasn't you, sir.... This was what done it, I should say."

Sergeant-Major Cowley was standing beside him holding a bit of metal that was heavy in his hand and like a candlestick. He was aware that a moment before he had seen the fellow, Mackenzie, bending over the brazier, putting the sheet of iron back. Careful officer, Mackenzie. The Huns must not be allowed to see the light from the brazier. The edge of the sheet had gone down on the dead man's tunic, nipping a bit by the shoulder. The face had disappeared in shadow. There were several men's faces in the doorway.

Tietjens said: "No: I don't believe that did it. Something bigger.... Say a prize-fighter's fist...."

Sergeant Cowley said:

"No, no prize-fighter's fist would have done that, sir...." And then he added, "Oh, I take your meaning, sir ... O Nine Morgan's wife, sir...."

Tietjens moved, his feet sticking, towards the sergeant-major's table. The other runner had placed a tin basin with water on it. There was a hooded candle there now, alight; the water shone innocently, a half-moon of translucence wavering over the white bottom of the basin. The runner from Pontardulais said: