After tea the other occupants of the tent went out of the lines to play stump-cricket. Silver was in the middle of a story in one of the magazines, so did not accompany them. Kennedy cried off on the plea of slackness. "I say," he said, when they were alone. "Hullo," said Silver, finishing his story, and putting down the magazine. "What do you say to going after those chaps? I thought that story was going to be a long one that would take half an hour to get through. But it collapsed. Like that guard-tent." "About that tent business," said Kennedy. "Of course that was all rot what I was saying just now. I suddenly remembered that I didn't particularly want anybody but you to hear what I was going to say, so I had to invent any rot that I could think of." "But now," said Jimmy Silver, sinking his voice to a melodramatic whisper, "the villagers have left us to continue their revels on the green, our wicked uncle has gone to London, his sinister retainer, Jasper Murgleshaw, is washing his hands in the scullery sink, and--_we are alone!_" "Don't be an ass," pleaded Kennedy. "Tell me your dreadful tale. Conceal nothing. Spare me not. In fact, say on." "I've had a talk with the chap who was sentry that night," began Kennedy. "Astounding revelations by our special correspondent," murmured Silver. "You might listen." "I _am_ listening. Why don't you begin? All this hesitation strikes me as suspicious. Get on with your shady story." "You remember the sentry was upset--" "Very upset." "Somebody collared him from behind, and upset him into the ditch. They went in together, and the other man sat on his head." "A touching picture. Proceed, friend." "They rolled about a bit, and this sentry chap swears he scratched the man. It was just after that that the man sat on his head. Jones says he was a big chap, strong and heavy." "He was in a position to judge, anyhow." "Of course, he didn't mean to scratch him. He was rather keen on having that understood. But his fingers came up against the fellow's cheek as he was falling. So you see we've only got to look for a man with a scratch on his cheek. It was the right cheek, Jones was almost certain. I don't see what you're laughing at." "I wish you wouldn't spring these good things of yours on me suddenly," gurgled Jimmy Silver, rolling about the wooden floor of the tent. "You ought to give a chap some warning. Look here," he added, imperatively, "swear you'll take me with you when you go on your tour through camp examining everybody's right cheek to see if it's got a scratch on it."