'Who do you think you are, Marlowe?' Drinkwater snapped. 'You've no jurisdiction over him.'
'He's not going to be your batman.'
'Why?'
'Because I say so. You're dismissed, Blodger.'
'But sir, I'll look after the chaplain fine, I really will. I'll work hard —'
'Where'd you get that cigarette?'
'Now look here, Marlowe —' Drinkwater began.
Peter Marlowe whirled on him. 'Shut up!' Others in the hut stopped what they were doing and began to collect.
'Where did you get that cigarette, Blodger?'
'The chaplain gave it to me,' whimpered Blodger, backing away, frightened by the edge to Peter Marlowe's voice. 'I gave him my egg. He promised me tobacco in exchange for my daily egg. I want the tobacco and he can have the egg.'
'There's no harm in that,' Drinkwater blustered, 'no harm in giving the boy some tobacco. He asked me for it. In exchange for an egg.'
'You been up to Ward Six recently?' Peter Marlowe asked. 'Did you help them admit Lyles? Your last batman? He's got no eyes now.'
'That's not my fault. I didn't do anything about him.'
'How many of his eggs did you have?'
'None. I had none.'
Peter Marlowe snatched a Bible and thrust it into Drinkwater's hands.
'Swear it, then I'll believe you. Swear it or by God I'll do you!'
'I swear it!' Drinkwater moaned.
'You lying bastard,' Daven shouted, 'I've seen you take Lyles' eggs. We all have.'
Peter Marlowe grabbed Drinkwater's mess can and found the egg. Then he smashed it against Drinkwater's face, cramming the egg shell into his mouth. Drinkwater fainted.
Peter Marlowe dashed a bowl of water in his face, and he came to.
'Bless you, Marlowe,' he had whispered. 'Bless you for showing me the error of my ways.' He had knelt beside the bunk. 'Oh God, forgive this unworthy sinner. Forgive me my sins…'
Now, on this sun-kissed Sunday, Peter Marlowe listened as Drinkwater finished the sermon. Blodger had long since gone to Ward Six, but whether Drinkwater had helped him there, Peter Marlowe could never prove. Drinkwater still got many eggs from somewhere.
Peter Marlowe's stomach told him it was time for lunch.
When he got back to his hut, the men were already waiting, mess cans in hands, impatient. The extra was not going to arrive today. Or tomorrow according to rumor. Ewart had already checked the cookhouse. Just the usual. That was all right too, but why the hell don't they hurry up?
Grey was sitting on the end of his bed.
'Well, Marlowe,' he said, 'you eating with us these days? Such a pleasant surprise.'
'Yes, Grey, I'm still eating here. Why don't you just run along and play cops and robbers? You know, pick on someone who can't hit back!'
'Not a chance, old man. Got my eye on bigger game.'
'Jolly good luck.' Peter Marlowe got his mess cans ready. Across the way from him Brough, kibitzing a game of bridge, winked.
'Cops!' he whispered. 'They're all the same.'
'That's right.'
He joined Peter Marlowe. 'Hear you've a new buddy.'
'That's right.' Peter Marlowe was on his guard.
'It's a free country. But sometimes a guy's got to get out on a limb and make a point.'
'Oh?'
'Yeah. Fast company can sometimes get out of hand.'
'That's true in any country.'
'Maybe,' Brough grinned, 'maybe you'd like to have a cuppa Joe sometime and chew the fat.'
'I'd like that. How about tomorrow? After chow —' Involuntarily he used the King's word. But he didn't correct himself. He smiled and Brough smiled back.
'Hey, grub's up!' Ewart called out.
'Thank God for that,' Phil groaned. 'How about a deal, Peter? Your rice for my stew?'
'You've got a hope!'
