"Just button 'em up in my pocket I suppose," said the first voice in an unimpressed whine. The other voice seemed to choke for a while. When it recovered it discussed a question of ancestry with some vividness. "Oh, all right, sergeant, all right," commented the first voice, resignedly. "But a man can't 'elp 'is feelin's. If it was an eskylade now, I'd be breathin' as easy as a babby. But this 'ole and corner work ain't work for a soldier. W'y can't 'Is Majesty shoot the pore buggers 'imself if 'e wants 'em shot? Tell me that, now," it concluded triumphantly, "an' I'll stand you a pot o' beer." "Go ask him," said the sergeant's voice, very bitterly, "Go ask him, Bowbells. He's in the guardroom now, just waiting for some son of a whore to ask him a question like that. By God, he'd crucify you." "Like enough," grunted the other. "Doctor 'e calls 'imself." He spat. "_I_ wouldn't trust him to poison a sergeant." "You're a drunk disgrace to the British Army," said the sergeant's voice with sour finality, "And I'd have you in the calabooze this minute if--" "Aye," said the other, thoughtfully, "_If_ I wasn't a pearl o' marksmen--and if you could draw a cordon round 'ere without me--and _hif_ I didn't know 'oo buggered the last payroll--Most likely. Run along, sergeant, and wipe the other boys' noses for 'em. You can rest easy about this side--there'll be two beautiful corpses to show 'Is Majesty if they tries to run my post." "You're drunk, you fool," said the sergeant acridly, and departed. "Wish I was," said the other voice, a trifle plaintively, as Andrew heard the heavy boots crunch away. He raised his head cautiously, inch by inch. There was a little bush at the lip of the ditch--it would hide him as he reconnoitered. The sentry was just too far away, in the shadowed door of the storehouse. For all his sleepy arm, he seemed terribly alert and there were at least thirty yards of open moonlit ground between him and them. If they rushed him, one of them would be killed or disabled in the rush and the other would have to kill at once, in his turn, before the shot brought up the rest of the guard. It was like Dr. Gentian, this. Very like him. He could see Dr. Gentian in a cane-chair in the guardroom, waiting composedly for his birds to fly into the snare. He sank back into the ditch again. He felt stiff and cramped. Dying couldn't be much worse. Sebastian had turned around somehow, he could see his face. He put his own face close. "When you say, Sebastian," his lips formed, without sound. He saw Sebastian's body grow taut and his own muscles tightened. Then Sebastian's expression changed. "Not yet," he whispered. He hunched down and began to crawl still farther along the ditch.