the T-G's war wound plays up

"Why did Mertz and Mawson eat the husky livers if they knew they were poisonous?" I had to ask. It had been troubling me all night.
The T-G sighed heavily. "They DIDN'T know, in those days. It all happened before the Great War. You know. Before I got shot in the Balkans."
I winced. The T-G tends to get tetchy when his old war wound plays up. And that's never a good thing. He's terribly butch, and had a piece of shrapnel, from said war wound, mounted in silver and fitted on the nub of his sword stick, with the words"Ready for Action" engraved along the business end.
"They didn't have vitamins in those days?" I queried. Mind you, I thought, I have precious little of them myself.
"They didn't NEED vitamins. They were a different breed. Tough. Men were men, in those days." The Tupfinder was gazing into the middle distance with a wistful expression. I didn't like to remind him about the vitamin A poisoning, and daren't even breath the word "scurvy". I defo. didn't want to cross the Tupfinder, in his present mood. I imagined he was remembering his first meeting with Mrs T-G, in the field hospital at Scutari.
"That reminds me - I've been wonderin' - what the dickens happened to the other items from my vitrine? the Meerschaum pipe for example? not to mention Scott's last biscuit." (see previous posts)
I coughed nervously, as one does in such situations, and tried to change the subject.
"Another smidgeon of madeira, T-G? Terrible weather we're having."
Just as he reached towards me, glass in hand, Geoffrey sprang up from his pillows and shrieked"Eccles! he's in the canal!" and collapsed, insensible once more.
The T-G eyed him sceptically. "I wonder..." he mused, and lit a small cigar. When the tip was glowing brightly, he held it to Geoffrey's left ear. Before it touched the feathers, Geoffrey was up like a shot, and flying round the ceiling in a panic.
The T-G sat back smugly. "Thought so!"
Geoffrey? feigning illness? whatever next! but why?