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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"

'
'That is unfortunate.'
'But I have duplicates.'
'Excellent! Come, Lasalle, every minute counts, and there is nothing to
be done here. Let the men scatter, and we may still ride him down.'
The two tall soldiers clanked out of the cottage without taking any
further notice of my companion, and I heard the sharp stern order and
the jingling of metal as the troopers sprang back into their saddles
once more. An instant later they were off, and I listened to the dull
beat of their hoofs dying rapidly into a confused murmur. My little
snuff-coloured champion went to the door of the hut and peered after
them through the darkness. Then he came back and looked me up and down,
with his usual dry sardonic smile.
'Well, young man,' said he, 'we have played some pretty _tableaux
vivants_ for your amusement, and you can thank me for that nice seat in
the front row of the parterre.'
'I am under a very deep obligation to you, sir,' I answered, struggling
between my gratitude and my aversion. 'I hardly know how to thank
you.'
He looked at me with a singular expression in his ironical eyes.


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