The doctor wisely declined to discuss this question, and confined himself to stating that Johnny was not dead. On the contrary, he was going on nicely. "But," he went on, "quiet is essential, and I want to take him to my house, out of the racket. No doubt it is pretty quiet here now, but--" The colonel interrupted: "Will he give his _parole_ not to escape?" "My dear sir," said the doctor, "the man couldn't move to save his life--and he's asleep now." "You must wake him up to move him, I suppose," said the colonel. "But you may take him. Let me know when he's well enough to see me. Meanwhile I hold you responsible for his good behavior." "Certainly," said the doctor. "I am content to be responsible for Mr. Carr." "All right; take him and get out. Now for Whittingham!" "Hadn't we better get the money first?" said I. "Damn the money!" he replied. "But I tell you what--I must have a bit of food. I've tasted nothing for twelve hours." One of the servants hearing him, said: "Breakfast can be served in a moment, sir." And he ushered us into the large dining room, where we soon had an excellent meal. When we had got through most of it, I broke the silence by asking: "What are you going to do with him?" "I should like to shoot him," said the colonel. "On what charge?" "Treachery," he replied. I smiled. "That would hardly do, would it?" "Well, then, embezzlement of public funds." We had a little talk about the President's destiny, and I tried to persuade the colonel to milder measures. In fact, I was determined to prevent such a murder if I could without ruin to myself. "Well, we'll consider it when we've seen him," said the colonel, rising and lighting a cigarette. "By Jove! we've wasted an hour breakfasting--it's seven o'clock." I followed him along the passage, and we entered the little room where we had left the President. The sentries were still there, each seated in an armchair. They were not asleep, but looked a little drowsy. "All right?" said the colonel. "Yes, Excellency," said one of them. "He is in there in bed." He went into the inner room and began to undo the shutters, letting in the early sun. We passed through the half-opened door and saw a peaceful figure lying in the bed, whence proceeded a gentle snore. "Good nerve, hasn't he?" said the colonel. "Yes; but what a queer night-cap!" I said, for the President's head was swathed in white linen. The colonel strode quickly up to the bed. "Done, by hell!" he cried. "It's Johnny Carr!" It was true; there lay Johnny. His Excellency was nowhere to be seen. The colonel shook Johnny roughly by the arm. The latter opened his eyes and said sleepily: "Steady there. Kindly remember I'm a trifle fragile." "What's this infernal plot? Where's Whittingham?" "Ah, it's McGregor," said Johnny, with a bland smile, "and Martin. How are you, old fellow? Some beast's hit me on the head." "Where's Whittingham?" reiterated the colonel, savagely shaking Johnny's arm.