"His Majesty's Service has no use for madmen," he thundered. "You
know that I possess superior authority here."
"That man shall not escape!" Griffiths shouted.
He struggled for his whistle. Sir Henry snatched it from him and
picked up the revolver from the carpet.
"Look here, Griffiths," he remonstrated severely, "one single move
in opposition to my wishes will cost you your career. Let there be
no misunderstanding about it. That man will not be arrested by you
to-night."
Griffiths staggered to his feet. He was half cowed, half furious.
"You take the responsibility for this, Sir Henry?" he demanded
thickly. "The man is a proved traitor. If you assist him to escape,
you are subject to penalties--"
Sir Henry threw open the door.
"Captain Griffiths," he interrupted, "I am not ignorant of my
position in this matter. Believe me, your last chance of retaining
your position here is to remember that you have had specific orders
to yield to my authority in all matters. Kindly leave this room
and take your soldiers back to their quarters."
Griffiths hesitated for a single moment. He had the appearance of
a man half demented by a passion which could find no outlet. Then
he left the room, without salute, without a glance to the right or
to the left. Out in the hall, a moment later, they heard a harsh
voice of command.
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