hands.
“Any news?”
The perfunctory question was answered as usual by: “Nothing but the cannon.”
Trent sat down on the bed.
“Where on earth did you get that?” he demanded, pointing to a half-finished chicken nestling in a washbasin.
West grinned.
“Are you millionaires, you two? Out with it.”
Braith, looking a little ashamed, began, “Oh, it’s one of West’s exploits,” but was cut short by West, who said he would tell the story himself.
“You see, before the siege, I had a letter of introduction to a ‘ type ’ here, a fat banker, German-American variety. You know the species, I see. Well, of course I forgot to present the letter, but this morning, judging it to be a favourable opportunity, I called on him.