THE WINDS OF THE WORLD

By TALBOT MUNDY

THE WINDS OF THE WORLD

 Ever the Winds of the World fare forth (Oh, listen ye! Ah, listen ye!), East and West, and South and North, Shuttles weaving back and forth Amid the warp! (Oh, listen ye!) Can sightless touch--can vision keen Hunt where the Winds of the World have been And searching, learn what rumors mean? (Nay, ye who are wise! Nay, listen ye!) When tracks are crossed and scent is stale, 'Tis fools who shout--the fast who fail! But wise men harken-Listen ye!

YASMINI'S SONG. 

CHAPTER I

A watery July sun was hurrying toward a Punjab sky-line, as if wearyof squandering his strength on men who did not mind, and resentful ofthe unexplainable--a rainy-weather field-day. The cold steel andkhaki of native Indian cavalry at attention gleamed motionlessbetween British infantry and two batteries of horse artillery. Theonly noticeable sound was the voice of a general officer, that roseand fell explaining and asserting pride in his command, but sayingnothing as to the why of exercises in the mud. Nor did he mention whythe censorship was in full force. He did not say a word of Germany, or Belgium. 

In front of the third squadron from the right, Risaldar-MajorRanjoor Singh sat his charger like a big bronze statue. He would havestooped to see his right spur bettor, that shone in spite of mud, forthough he has been a man these five-and-twenty years, Ranjoor Singhhas neither lost his boyhood love of such things, nor intends to; hehas been accused of wearing solid silver spurs in bed. But it hurthim to bend much, after a day's hard exercise on a horse such as herode. 

Once--in a rock-strewn gully where the whistling Himalayan wind wasActing Antiseptic-of-the-Day--a young surgeon had taken hurriedstitches over Ranjoor Singh's ribs without probing deep enough for anAfghan bullet; that bullet burned after a long day in the saddle. AndBagh was--as the big brute's name implied--a tiger of a horse, unweakened even by monsoon weather, and his habit was to spring withterrific suddenness when his rider moved on him. 

So Ranjoor Singh sat still. He was willing to eat agony at any timefor the squadron's sake--for a squadron of Outram's Own is a unity tomarvel at, or envy; and its leader a man to be forgiven spurs a half-inchlonger than the regulation. As a soldier, however, he was carefulof himself when occasion offered. 

Sikh-soldier-wise, he preferred Bagh to all other horses in theworld, because it had needed persuasion, much stroking of a blackbeard--to hide anxiety--and many a secret night-ride--to sweat thebrute's savagery--before the colonel-sahib could be made to see hisvirtues as a charger and accept him into the regiment. Sikh-wise, heloved all things that expressed in any way his own unconquerablefire. Most of all, however, he loved the squadron; there was nowoman, nor anything between him and D Squadron; but Bagh came next. 

Spurs were not needed when the general ceased speaking, and theBritish colonel of Outram's Own shouted an order. Bagh, brute energybeneath hand-polished hair and plastered dirt, sprang like a loosedHell-tantrum, and his rider's lips drew tight over clenched teeth ashe mastered self, agony and horse in one man's effort. Fight how hewould, heel, tooth and eye all flashing, Bagh was forced to hold hisrightful place in front of the squadron, precisely the right distancebehind the last supernumerary of the squadron next in front. 

Line after rippling line, all Sikhs of the true Sikh baptism exceptfor the eight of their officers who were European, Outram's Own sweptdown a living avenue of British troops; and neither gunners norinfantry could see one flaw in them, although picking flaws in nativeregiments is almost part of the British army officer's religion. 

To the blare of military music, through a bog of their own mixing, the Sikhs trotted for a mile, then drew into a walk, to bring thehorses into barracks cool enough for watering. 

They reached stables as the sun dipped under the near-by acaciatrees, and while the black-bearded troopers scraped and rubbed themud from weary horses, Banjoor Singh went through a task whose format least was part of his very life. He could imagine nothing lessthan death or active service that could keep him from inspectingevery horse in the squadron before he ate or drank, or as much aswashed himself. 

But, although the day had been a hard one and the strain on thehorses more than ordinary, his examination now was so perfunctorythat the squadron gaped; the troopers signaled with their eyes as hepassed, little more than glancing at each horse. Almost before hisback had vanished at the stable entrance, wonderment burst into words. 

"For the third time he does thus!"

"See! My beast overreached, and he passed without detecting it! Doesthe sun set the same way still?"

"I have noticed that he does thus each time after a field-day. Whatis the connection? A field-day in the rains--a general officertalking to us afterward about the Salt, as if a Sikh does notunderstand the Salt better than a British general knows English--andour risaldar-major neglecting the horses--is there a connection?"

"Aye. What is all this? We worked no harder in the war against theChitralis. There is something in my bones that speaks of war, when Ilisten for a while!"

"War! Hear him, brothers! Talk is talk, but there will be no waruntil India grows too fat to breathe--unless the past be rememberedand we make one for ourselves!"

 * * * * *

There was silence for a while, if a change of sounds is silence. TheDelhi mud sticks as tight as any, and the kneading of it from out ofhorsehair taxes most of a trooper's energy and full attention. Then, the East being the East in all things, a solitary; trooper picked upthe scent and gave tongue, as a true hound guides the pack. 

"Who is _she_?" he wondered, loud enough for fifty men to hear. 

From out of a cloud of horse-dust, where a stable helper onprobation combed a tangled tail, came one word of swift enlightenment. 

"Yasmini!"

"Ah-h-h-h!" In a second the whole squadron was by the ears, and thestable-helper was the center of an interest he had not bargained for. 

"Nay, sahibs, I but followed him, and how should I know? Nay, then Idid not follow him! It so happened. I took that road, and he steppedout of a _tikka-gharri_ at her door. Am I blind? Do I not knowher door? Does not everybody know it? Who am I that I should know whyhe goes again? But--does a moth fly only once to the lamp-flame? Doesa drunkard drink but once? By the Guru, nay! May my tongue parch inmy throat if I said he is a drunkard! I said--I meant to say--seeingshe is Yasmini, and he having been to see her once--and being againin a great hurry--whither goes he?"

So the squadron chose a sub-committee of inquiry, seven strong, thatbeing a lucky number the wide world over, and the movements of therisaldar-major were reported one by one to the squadron with theinfinite exactness of small detail that seems so useless to all saveEasterns. 

Fifteen minutes after he had left his quarters, no longer in khakiuniform, but dressed as a Sikh gentleman, the whole squadron knew thecolor of his undershirt, also that he had hired a _tikka-gharri_, andthat his only weapon was the ornamental dagger that a true Sikh wearstwisted in his hair. One after one, five other men reported him nearlyall the way through Delhi, through the Chandni Chowk--where the lastman but one nearly lost him in the evening crowd--to the narrow placewhere, with a bend in the street to either hand, is Yasmini's. 

The last man watched him through Yasmini's outer door and up thelower stairs before hurrying back to the squadron. And a little lateron, being almost as inquisitive as they were careful for their major, the squadron delegated other men, in mufti, to watch for him at thefoot of Yasmini's stairs, or as near to the foot as might be, and seehim safely home again if they had to fight all Asia on the way. 

These men had some money with them, and weapons hidden underneaththeir clothes; for, having betted largely on the quail-fight atAbdul's stables, the squadron was in funds. 

"In case of trouble one can bribe the police, " counseled NanakSingh, and he surely ought to know, for he was the oldest trooper, and trouble everlasting had preserved him from promotion. "Butweapons are good, when policemen are not looking, " he added, and thesquadron agreed with him. 

It was Tej Singh, not given to talking as is rule, who voiced thegeneral opinion. 

"Now we are on the track of things. Now, perhaps, we shall know themeaning of field exercises during the monsoon, with our horses up tothe belly in blue mud! The winds of all the world blow into Yasmini'sand out again. Our risaldar-major knows nothing at all of women--andthat is the danger. But he can listen to the wind; and, what hehears, sooner or later we shall know, too. I smell happenings!"

Those three words comprised the whole of it. The squadron spent mostof the night whispering, dissecting, analyzing, subdividing, weighing, guessing at that smell of happenings, while its risaldar-major, thinking his secret all his own, investigated nearer to its source. 

 Have you heard the dry earth shrug herself For a storm that tore the trees?

 Have you watched loot-hungry Faithful Praising Allah on their knees?

 Have you felt the short hairs rising When the moon slipped out of sight, And the chink of steel on rock explained That footfall in the night?

 Have you seen a gray boar sniff up-wind In the mauve of waking day?

 Have you heard a mad crowd pause and think? Have you seen all Hell to pay?

CHAPTER II

Yasmini bears a reputation that includes her gift for dancing andher skill in song, but is not bounded thereby, Her stairs illustratedit--the two flights of steep winding stairs that lead to herbewildering reception-floor; they seem to have been designed to takemen's breath away, and to deliver them at the top defenseless. 

But Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh mounted them with scarcely aneffort, as a man who could master Bagh well might, and at the top hismiddle-aged back was straight and his eye clear. The cunning, curtained lights did not distract him; so he did not make the usualmistake of thinking that the Loveliness who met him was Yasmini. 

Yasmini likes to make her first impression of the evening on a manjust as he comes from making an idiot of himself; so the maid whocurtsies in the stair-head maze of mirrored lights has been trainedto imitate her. But Ranjoor Singh flipped the girl a coin, and itjingled at her feet. 

The maid ceased bowing, too insulted to retort. The piece of silver--she would have stooped for gold, just as surely as she would haverecognized its ring--lay where it fell. Ranjoor Singh stepped forwardtoward a glass-bead curtain through which a soft light shone, and anunexpected low laugh greeted him. It was merry, mocking, musical--andsomething more. There was wisdom hidden in it--masquerading asfrivolity; somewhere, too, there was villainy-villainy that she wholaughed knew all about and found more interesting than a play. 

Then suddenly the curtain parted, and Yasmini blocked the way, standing with arms spread wide to either door-post, smiling at him;and Ranjoor Singh had to stop and stare whether it suited him or not. 

Yasmini is not old, nor nearly old, for all that India is full oftales about her, from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. In a land wheretwelve is a marriageable age, a woman need not live to thirty to betalked about; and if she can dance as Yasmini does--though only theRussian ballet can do that--she has the secret of perpetual youth tohelp her defy the years. No doubt the soft light favored her, but shemight have been Ranjoor Singh's granddaughter as she barred his wayand looked him up and down impudently through languorous brown eyes. 

"Salaam, O plowman!" she mocked. She was not actually still aninstant, for the light played incessantly on her gauzy silkentrousers and jeweled slippers, but she made no move to admit him. "Myhonor grows! Twice--nay, three times in a little while!"

She spoke in the Jat tongue fluently; but that was not remarkable, because Yasmini is mistress of so many languages that men say one cannot speak in her hearing and not be understood. 

"I am a soldier, " answered Ranjoor Singh more than a little stiffly. 

"'I am a statesman, ' said the viceroy's babu! A Sikh is a Jat farmerwith a lion's tail and the manners of a buffalo! Age or gallantrywill bend a man's back. What keeps it straight--the smell of thefarmyard on his shoes?"

Ranjoor Singh did not answer, nor did he bow low as she intended. She forgot, perhaps, that on a previous occasion he had seen hersnatch a man's turban from his head and run with it into the room, tothe man's sweating shame. He kicked his shoes off calmly and waitedas a man waits on parade, looking straight into her eyes that werelike dark jewels, only no jewels in the world ever glowed sowonderfully; he thought he could read anger in them, but that ruffledhim no more than her mockery. 

"Enter, then, O farmer!" she said, turning lithely as a snake, tobeckon him and lead the way. 

Now he had only a back view of her, but the contour of her neck andchin and her shoulders mocked him just as surely as her lips weremaking signals that he could not see. One answer to the signals wasthe tittering of twenty maids, who sat together by the great deepwindow, ready to make music. 

"They laugh to see a farmer strayed from his manure-pile!" purredYasmini over her shoulder; but Ranjoor Singh followed her unperturbed. 

He was finding time to study the long room, its divans and deepcushions around the walls; and it did not escape his notice that manypeople were expected. He guessed there was room for thirty or fortyto sit at ease. 

Like a pale blue will-o'-the-wisp, a glitter in the cunning lights, she led him to a far end of the room where many cushions were, Thereshe turned on him with a snake-like suddenness that was one of hersurest tricks. 

"I shall have great guests to-night--I shall be busy. "

"That is thy affair, " said Ranjoor Singh, aware that her eyes wereseeking to read his soul. The dropped lids did not deceive him. 

"Then, what do you want here?"

That question was sheer impudence. It is very well understood inDelhi that any native gentleman of rank may call on Yasmini betweenmidday and midnight without offering a reason for his visit;otherwise it would be impossible to hold a salon and be a power inpolitics, in a land where politics run deep, but where men do notadmit openly to which party they belong. But Yasmini represents thespirit of the Old East, sweeter than a rose and twice as tempting--with a poisoned thorn inside. And here was the New East, in the shapeof a middle-aged Sikh officer taught by Young England. 

He annoyed her. 

Ranjoor Singh's answer was to seat himself, with a dignity the Westhas yet to learn, on a long divan against the wall that gave him agood view of the entrance and all the rest of the room, windowincluded. Instantly Yasmini flung herself on the other end of it, andlay face downward, with her chin resting on both hands. 

She studied his face intently for sixty seconds, and it very seldomtakes her that long to read a man's character, guess at his past, andmake arrangements for his future, if she thinks him worth her while. 

"Why are you here?" she asked again at the end of her scrutiny. 

Ranjoor Singh seemed not to hear her; he was watching other men whoentered, and listening to the sound of yet others on the stairs. Noother Sikh came in, nor more than one of any other caste or tribe;yet he counted thirty men in half as many minutes. 

"I think you are a buffalo!" she said at last; but if Ranjoor Singhwas interested in her thoughts he forgot to admit it. 

A dozen more men entered, and the air, already heavy, grew thickwith tobacco smoke mingling with the smoke of sandal-wood thatfloated back and forth in layers as the punkahs swung lazily. Outside, the rain swished and chilled the night air; but the hot airfrom inside hurried out to meet the cool, and none of the cool camein. The noise of rain became depressing until Yasmini made a signalto her maids and they started to make music. 

Then Yasmini caught a new sound on the stairs, and swiftly, instantly, instead of glancing to the entrance, her eyes soughtRanjoor Singh's; and she saw that he had heard it too. So she sat upas if enlightenment had come and had brought disillusion in its wake. 

The glass-bead curtain jingled, and a maid backed through itgiggling, followed in a hurry by a European, dressed in a white duckapology for evening clothes. He seemed a little the worse for drink, but not too drunk to recognize the real Yasmini when he saw her andto blush crimson for having acted like an idiot. 

"Queen of the Night!" he said in Hindustani that was peculiarlymispronounced. 

"_Box-wallah!_" she answered under her breath; but she smiledat him, and aloud she said, "Will the sahib honor us all by beingseated?"

A maid took charge of the man at once, and led him to a seat not farfrom the middle of the room. Yasmini, whose eyes were on RanjoorSingh every other second, noticed that the Sikh, having summed up theEuropean, had already lost all interest. 

But there, were other footsteps. The curtain parted again to admit asecond European, a somewhat older man, who glanced back over hisshoulder deferentially and, to Yasmini's unerring eye, tried to carryoff prudish timidity with an air of knowingness. 

"Who is he?" demanded Ranjoor Singh; and Yasmini rattled thebracelets on her ankles loud enough to hide a whisper. 

"An agent, " she answered. "He has an office here in Delhi. The firstman is his clerk, who is supposed to be the leader into mischief;they have made him a little drunk lest he understand too much. I havesent a maid to him that he may understand even less. "

The second man was closely followed by a third, and Yasminismothered a squeal of excitement, for she saw that Ranjoor Singh'seyes were ablaze at last and that he had sat bolt upright withoutknowing it. The third man was dressed like the other two in whiteduck, but he wore his clothes not as they did. He was tall andstraight. One could easily enough imagine him dressed better. 

His quick, intelligent gray eyes swept over the whole room while hetook two steps, and at once picked out Yasmini as the mistress of theplace; but he waited to bow to her until the first man pointed herout. Then it seemed to Ranjoor Singh--who was watching as minutely asYasmini in turn watched him--that, when he bowed, this tall, confident-looking individual almost clicked his heels together, butremembered not to do so just in time. The eyes of the East miss nosmall details. Yasmini, letting her jeweled ankles jingle again, chuckled to Ranjoor Singh. 

"And they say he comes from Europe selling goods, " she whispered. "The fat man who is frightened claims to be a customer for bales ofblankets. Since when has the customer been humble while the sellercalls the tune? Look!"

The second arrival and the third sat down together as she spoke; andwhile the second sat like a merchant, nursing fat hands on aconsequential paunch, the third sat straight-backed, kicking a littlesidewise with his left leg. Ranjoor Singh saw, too, that he kept hisheels a little more than a spur's length off from the divan's drapery. 

"Listen!" hissed Ranjoor Singh. 

Yasmini wriggled closer, and pretended to be watching her maids overby the window. 

"That man who came last, " said the risaldar-major, "has been toldthat thou art like a spider, watching from the middle of the web ofIndia. "

"Then for once they have told the truth!" she chuckled. 

"In the bazaar he asked to be shown men of all the tribes, that hemight study their commercial needs. He was told to come here and meetthem; and these were sent for from the caravanserais. Is it not so?"

"Art thou thyself for the Raj?" asked Yasmini. 

"I lead a squadron of Sikh cavalry, " said Ranjoor Singh, "and youask me am I for the Raj?"

"The buffalo that carries water for the office lawn is for the Raj!"said Yasmini. 

"Then he and I are brothers. "

"And he, yonder--what of him?" She was growing impatient, for thetune was nearly at an end, and it would be time presently for her totake up the burden of entertainment. 

"He will ask, perhaps, to speak with a Sikh of influence. "

"Sahib, 'to hear is to obey, '" she mocked, rising to her feet. 

"Listen yet!" commanded Ranjoor Singh. "Serve me in this matter, andthere will be great reward. I, who am only one, might die by adagger, or a rope in the dark, or ground glass in my bread; but thenthere would be a squadron, and perhaps a regiment, to ask questions. "

"Perhaps?"

"Perhaps. Who knows?"

He spoke from modesty, sure of the squadron that he loved so muchbetter than his life, but not caring to magnify his own importance byclaiming the regard of the other squadrons, too. But Yasmini, whonever in her life went straight from point to point of an idea andnever could believe that anybody else did, supposed he meant that onesquadron was in his confidence, whereas the rest had not yet beensounded. 

"So speaks one who is for the Raj!" she grinned. 

Playing for profit and amusement, she never, never let anybody knowwhich side she had taken in any game. Therefore she despised a manwho showed his hand to her, as she believed Ranjoor Singh had done. But she only showed contempt when it suited her, and by no meansalways when she felt it. 

The minor music ceased and all eyes in the room were turned to her. She rose to her feet as a hooded cobra comes toward its prey, sparinga sidewise surreptitious smile of confidence for Ranjoor Singh thatno eye caught save his; yet as she turned from him and swayed in thefirst few steps of a dance devised that minute, his quick ear caughtthe truth of her opinion:

"Buffalo!" she murmured. 

The flutes in the window wailed about mystery. The lights, and thesandal-smoke, and the expectant silence emphasized it. Step by step, as if the spirit of all dancing had its home in her, she told awordless tale, using her feet and every sinuous muscle as no otherwoman in all India ever did. 

Men say that Yasmini is partly Russian, and that may be true, forshe speaks Russian fluently. Russian or not, the members of theRussian ballet are the only others in the world who share her art. Certainly, she keeps in touch with Russia, and knows more even thanthe Indian government about what goes on beyond India's northernfrontier. She makes and magnifies the whole into a mystery; and herdance that night expressed the fascination mystery has for her. 

And then she sang. It is her added gift of song that makes Yasminiunique, for she can sing in any of a dozen languages, and besides thelove-songs that come southward from the hills, she knows all theinterminable ballads of the South and the Central Provinces. Butwhen, as that evening, she is at her best, mixing magic under theeyes of the inquisitive, she sings songs of her own making and onlyvery rarely the same song twice. She sang that night of the winds ofthe world which, she claims, carry the news to her; although otherssay her sources of information speak more distinctly. 

It seemed that the thread of an idea ran through song and dancealike, and that the hillmen and beyond-the-hills-men, who sat back-to-the-wall and watched, could follow the meaning of it. They began tocrowd closer, to squat cross-legged on the floor, in circles oneoutside the other, until the European three became the center ofthree rings of men who stared at them with owls' solemnity. 

Then Yasmini ceased dancing. Then one of the Europeans drew hiswatch out; and he had to show it to the other two before he couldconvince them that they had sat for two hours without wanting to doanything but watch and listen. 

"So _wass!_" said one of them--the drunken. 

_"Du lieber Gott--schon halb zwolf!"_ said the second. 

The third man made no remark at all. He was watching Ranjoor Singh. 

The risaldar--major had left the divan by the end wall and walked--all grim straight lines in contrast to Yasmini's curves--to a spotdirectly facing the three Europeans; and it seemed there sat ahillman on the piece of floor he coveted. 

"Get up!" he commanded. "Make room!"

The hillman did not budge, for an Afridi pretends to feel for a Sikhthe scorn that a Sikh feels truly for Afridis. The flat of RanjoorSingh's foot came to his assistance, and the hillman budged. In aninstant he was on his feet, with a lightning right hand reaching forhis knife. 

But Yasmini allows no butcher's work on her premises, and her wordswithin those walls are law, since no man knows who is on whose side. Yasmini beckoned him, and the Afridi slouched toward her sullenly. She whispered something, and he started for the stairs at once, without any further protest. 

Then there vanished all doubt as to which of the three Europeans wasmost important. The man who had come in first had accepted sherbetfrom the maid who sat beside him; he went suddenly from drowsiness toslumber, and the woman spurned his bullet-head away from hershoulder, letting him fall like a log among the cushions. The stoutsecond man looked frightened and sat nursing helpless hands. But thethird man sat forward, and tense silence fell on the assembly as theeyes of every man sought his. 

Only Yasmini, hovering in the background, had time to watch anythingother than those gray European eyes; she saw that they wereinterested most in Ranjoor Singh, and the maids who noticed herexpression of sweet innocence knew that she was thinking fast. 

"You are a Sikh?" said the gray-eyed man; and the crowd drew in itsbreath, for he spoke Hindustani with an accent that very few achieve, even with long practise. 

"Then you are of a brave nation--you will understand me. The Sikhsare a martial race. Their theory of politics is based on the militaryspirit--is it not so?"

Ranjoor Singh, who understood and tried to live the Sikh religionwith all his gentlemanly might, was there to acquire information, notto impart it. He grunted gravely. 

"All martial nations expand eventually. They tell me--I have heard--some of you Sikhs have tried Canada?"

Ranjoor Singh did not wince, though his back stiffened when the menaround him grinned; it is a sore point with the Sikhs that Canadadoes not accept their emigrants. 

"Sikhs are admitted into all the German colonies, " said the man withthe gray eyes. "They are welcome. "

"Do many go?" asked Ranjoor Singh. 

"That is the point. The Sikhs want a place in the sun from whichthey are barred at present--eh? Now, Germany--"

"Germany? Where is Germany?" asked Yasmini. She understands the lasttrick in the art of getting a story on its way. "To the west isEngland. Farther west, Ameliki. To the north lies Russia. To thesouth the _kali pani_-ocean. Where is Germany?"

The man with the gray eyes took her literally, since his nation arenot slow at seizing opportunity. He launched without a word more ofpreliminary into a lecture on Germany that lasted hours and held hisaudience spellbound. It was colorful, complete, and it did not seemto have been memorized. But that was art. 

He had no word of blame for England. He even had praise, when praisemade German virtue seem by that much greater; and the inference fromfirst to last was of German super-virtue. 

Some one in the crowd--who bore a bullet-mark in proof he did notjest--suggested to him that the British army was the biggest andfiercest in the world. So he told them of a German army, millionsstrong, that marched in league--long columns--an army that guarded bythe prosperous hundred thousand factory chimneys that smoked untilthe central European sky was black. 

Long, long after midnight, in a final burst of imagination, helikened Germany to a bee--hive from which a swarm must soon emergefor lack of room inside. And he proved, then, that he knew he hadmade an impression on them, for he dismissed them with an impudencethat would have set them laughing at him when he first began to speak. 

"Ye have my leave to go!" he said, as if he owned the place; andthey all went except one. 

"That is a lot of talk, " said Ranjoor Singh, when the last man hadstarted for the stairs. "What does it amount to? When will the beesswarm?"

The German eyed him keenly, but the Sikh's eyes did not flinch. 

"What is your rank?" the German asked. 

"Squadron leader!"

"Oh!"

The two stood up, and now there was no mistake about the German'sheels; they clicked. The two were almost of a height, although theSikh's head--dress made him seem the taller. They were both unusuallyfine--looking men, and limb for limb they matched. 

"If war were in Europe you would be taken there to fight, " said theGerman. 

Ranjoor Singh showed no surprise. 

"Whether you wanted to fight or not. "

There was no hint of laughter in the Sikh's brown eyes. 

"Germany has no quarrel with the Sikhs. "

"I have heard of none, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

"Wherever the German flag should fly, after a war, the Sikhs wouldhave free footing. "

Ranjoor Singh looked interested, even pleased. 

"Who is not against Germany is for her. "

"Let us have plain words' said Ranjoor Singh, leading the way to acorner in which he judged they could not be overheard; there heturned suddenly, borrowing a trick from Yasmini. 

"I am a Sikh--a patriot. What are you offering?"

"The freedom of the earth!" the German answered. "Self--government!The right to emigrate. Liberty!"

"On what condition? For a bargain has two sides. "

"That the Sikhs fail England!"

"When?"

"When the time comes! What is the answer?"

"I will answer when the time comes, " answered Ranjoor Singh, saluting stiffly before turning on his heel. 

Then he stalked out of the room, with a slight bow to Yasmini as hepassed. 

"Buffalo!" she murmured after him. "Jat buffalo!"

Then the Germans went away, after some heavy compliments that seemedto amuse Yasmini prodigiously, helping along the man who had drunksherbet and who now seemed inclined to weep. They dragged him downthe stairs between them, backward. Yasmini waited at the stair--headuntil she heard them pull him into a _gharri_ and drive away. Then she turned to her favorite maid. 

"Them--those cattle--I understand!" she said. "But it does not suitme that a Sikh, a Jat, a buffalo, should come here making mysteriesof his own without consulting me! And what does not suit me I do nottolerate! Go, get that Afridi whom the soldier kicked--I told him towait outside in the street until I sent for him. "

The Afridi came, nearly as helpless as the man who had drunksherbet, though less tearful and almost infinitely more resentful. What clothing had not been torn from him was soaked in blood, andthere was no inch of him that was not bruised. 

"Krishna!" said Yasmini impiously. 

"Allah!" swore the Afridi. 

"Who did it? What has happened?"

"Outside in the street I said to some men who waited that RanjoorSingh the Sikh is a bastard. From then until now they beat me, onlyleaving off to follow him hence when he came out through the door!"

Yasmini laughed, peal upon peal of silver laughter--of sheermerriment. 

"The gods love Yasmini!" she chuckled. "Aye, the gods love me! TheJat spoke of a squadron; it is evident that he spoke truth. So hissquadron watched him here! Go, _jungli_! Go, wash the bloodaway. Thou shalt have revenge! Come again to--morrow. Nay, go now, Iwould sleep when I have finished laughing. Aye--the gods loveYasmini!"

 The West Wind blows through the Ajmere Gate And whispers low (Oh, listen ye!), "The fed wolf curls by his drowsy mate In a tight--trod earth; but the lean wolves wait, And the hunger gnaws!" (Oh, listen ye!) "Can fed wolves fight? But yestere'en Their eyes were bright, their fangs were clean; They viewed, they took but yestere'en, " (Oh, listen, wise heads, listen ye!) "Because they fed, is blood less red, Or fangs less sharp, or hunger dead?" (Look well to the loot, and listen ye!)

YASMINI'S SONG

CHAPTER III

The colonel of Outram's Own dropped into a club where he was onlyone, and not the greatest, of many men entitled to respect. Therewere three men talking by a window, their voices drowned by the dinof rain on the veranda roof, each of whom nodded to him. He chose, however, a solitary chair, for, though subalterns do not believe it, a colonel has exactly that diffidence about approaching seniorcivilians which a subaltern ought to feel. 

In a moment all that was visible of him from the door was a pair ofbrown riding-boots, very much fore-shortened, resting on the long armof a cane chair, and two sets of wonderfully modeled fingers thatheld up a newspaper. From the window where the three men talked hecould be seen in profile. 

"Wears well--doesn't he?" said one of them. 

"Swears well, too, confound him!"

"Hah! Been trying to pump him, eh?"

"Yes. He's like a big bird catching flies--picks off your questionsone at a time, with one eye on you and the other one cocked for thenext question. Get nothing out of him but yes or no. Good fellow, though, when you're not drawing him. "

"You mean trying to draw him. He's the best that come. Wish theywere all like Kirby. "

The man who had not spoken yet--he looked younger, was some yearsolder, and watched the faces of the other two while seeming to listento something in the distance--looked at a cheap watch nervously. 

"Wish the Sikhs were all like Kirby!" he said. "If this businesscomes to a head, we're going to wish we had a million Kirbys. Whatdid he say? Temper of his men excellent, I suppose?"

"Used that one word. " "Um-m-m! No suspicions, eh?" "Said, 'No, nosuspicions!'" "Uh! I'll have a word with him. " He waddled off, shaking his drab silk suit into shape and twisting a leatherwatch-guard around his finger. 

"Believe it will come to anything?" asked one of the two men he hadleft behind. 

"Dunno. Hope not. Awful business if it does. "

"Remember how we were promised a world-war two years ago, justbefore the Balkans took fire?"

"Yes. That was a near thing, too. But they weren't quite ready then. Now they are ready, and they think we're not. If I were asked, I'dsay we ought to let them know we're ready for 'em. They want to fightbecause they think they can catch us napping; they'd think twice ifthey knew they couldn't do it. "

"Are they blind and deaf? Can't they see and hear?"

"_Quern deus vult perdere, prius dementat_, Ponsonby, my boy. "

The man in drab silk slipped into a chair next to Kirby's as a wolfslips into his lair, very circumspectly, and without noise; then herutched the chair sidewise toward Kirby with about as much noise as acompany of infantry would make. 

"Had a drink?" he asked, as Kirby looked up from his paper. "Haveone?"

"Ginger ale, please, " said Kirby, putting the paper down. 

A turbaned waiter brought long glasses in which ice tinkled, and thetwo sipped slowly, not looking at each other. 

"Know Yasmini?" asked the man in drab silk suddenly. 

"Heard of her, of course. "

"Ever see her?"

"No. "

"Ah! Most extraordinary woman. Wonderful!"

Kirby looked puzzled, and held his peace. 

"Any of your officers ever visit her?"

"Not when they're supposed to be on duty. "

"But at other times?"

"None of my affair if they do. Don't know, I'm sure. "

"Um-m-m!"

"Yes, " said Kirby, without vehemence. 

"Look at his beak!" said one of the two men by the window. "Neversee a big bird act that way? Look at his bright eye!"

"Wish mine were as bright, and my beak as aquiline; means directness--soldierly directness, that does!"

"Who is your best native officer, supposing you've any choice?"asked the man in the drab silk suit, speaking to the ceilingapparently. 

"Ranjoor Singh, " said Kirby promptly. 

It was quite clear there was no doubt in his mind. 

"How is he best? In what way?"

"Best man I've got. Fit to command the regiment. "

"Um-m-m!"

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

The man in drab sat sidewise and caught Kirby's eye, which was notdifficult. There was nothing furtive about him. 

"With a censorship that isn't admitted, but which has been ratherobvious for more than a month; with all forces undergoing fieldtraining during the worst of the rains--it's fair to suppose your mensmell something?"

"They've been sweating, certainly. "

"Do they smell a rat?"

"Yes. "

"Ask questions?"

"Yes. "

"What do you tell them?"

"That I don't know, and they must wait until I do. "

"Any recent efforts been made to tamper with them?"

"Not more than I reported. You know, of course, of the translationsfrom Canadian papers, discussing the rejection of Sikh immigrants?Each man received a copy through the mail. "

"Yes. We caught the crowd who printed that. Couldn't discover, though, how it got into the regiment's mail bags without beingpostmarked. Let's see--wasn't Ranjoor Singh officer-of-the-day?"

"Yes. "

"Um-m-m! Would it surprise you to know that Ranjoor Singh visitsYasmini?"

"Wouldn't interest me. "

"What follows is in strict confidence, please. "

"I'm listening. "

"I want you to hear reason. India, the whole of India, mind, has itsear to the ground. All up and down the length of the land--in everybazaar--in the ranks of every native regiment--it's known that peoplerepresenting some other European Power are trying to sow discontentwith our rule; and it's obvious to any native that we're on the watchfor something big that we expect to break any minute. Is that clear?"

"Yes. "

"Our strongest card is the loyalty of the native troops. "

"Yes. "

"Everybody knows that. Also, this thing we're looking for is mostdamnably real--might burst to-day, to-morrow--any time. So, even withthe censorship in working order, it wouldn't be wise to arrest anative officer merely on suspicion. "

"I'd arrest one of mine, " said Kirby, "if I had any reason tosuspect him for a second. "

"Wouldn't be wise! You mustn't!" The man in drab silk shook hishead. "Now, suppose you were to arrest Ranjoor Singh--"

Kirby laughed outright. 

"Suppose the Chandni Chowk were Regent Street!" he jeered. 

"Last night, " said the man in drab silk, "Risaldar-Major RanjoorSingh visited Yasmini, leaving six or more of the men of his squadronwaiting for him in the street outside. In Yasmini's room he listenedfor hours to a lecture on Germany, delivered by a German who hasBritish naturalization papers, whether forged or not is not yet clear. 

"After the lecture he had a private conversation lasting someminutes with the German who says he is an Englishman, and who, by theway, speaks Hindustani like a native. And, before he started home, his men who waited in the street thrashed an Afridi within an inch ofhis life for threatening to report Ranjoor Singh's presence at thelecture to the authorities. "

"Who told you this?" asked Colonel Kirby. 

"The Afridi, Yasmini, and three hillmen who were there byinvitation. I spoke with them all less than an hour ago. They allagree. But if Ranjoor Singh were asked about it, he would lie himselfout of it in any of a dozen ways, and would be on his guard infuture. If he were arrested, it would bring to a head what may proveto be a passing trifle; it would make the men angry, and the newswould spread, whatever we might do to prevent it. "

"What am I to understand that you want, then?" asked Kirby. 

"Watch him closely, without letting him suspect it. "

"Before I'd seriously consider orders to do that, they'd have tocome through military channels in the regular way, " said Kirby, without emotion. 

"I could arrange that, of course. I'll mention it to Todhunter. "

"And if the order reached me in the regular way, I'd resign ratherthan carry it out. "

"Um-m-m!" said the man in drab silk. 

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"You seem to forget that I, too, represent a government department, and have the country's interests at heart. Do you imagine I have agrudge against Ranjoor Singh?"

"I forget nothing of the kind, " said Kirby, "and imagination doesn'tenter into it. I know Ranjoor Singh, and that's enough. If he's atraitor, so am I. If he's not a loyal gallant officer, then I'm noteither. I'll stand or fall by his honor, for I know the man and youdon't. "

"Uh!" said the man in drab silk. 

"Yes, " said Colonel Kirby. 

"Look!" said one of the two men at the window. "Direct as a hornet'ssting--isn't a kink in him! Look at the angle of his chin!"

"You can tell his Sikh officers; they imitate him. "

"Do I understand you to refuse me point--blank?" asked the man inthe drab suit, still fidgeting with his watch--guard. Perhaps heguessed that two men in the window were discussing him. 

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"I shall have to go over your head. "

"Understand me, then. If an order of that kind reaches me, I shallarrest Ranjoor Singh at once, so that he may stand trial and becleared like a gentleman. I'll have nothing done to one of myofficers that would be intolerable if done to me, so long as Icommand the regiment!"

"What alternative do you suggest?" asked the man in gray, with a wryface. 

"Ask Ranjoor Singh about it. "

"Who? You or I?"

"He wouldn't answer you. "

"Then ask him yourself. But I shall remember, Colonel Kirby, thatyou did not oblige me in the matter. "

"Very well, " said Kirby, "Another drink?"

"No, thanks. "

"Who won?" asked one of the two men in the window. 

"Kirby!"

"I don't think so. I've been watching his face. He's the least bitrattled. It's somebody else who has won; he's been fighting anotherman's battle. But it's obvious who lost--look at that watch-chaingoing! Come away. "

_If a man has a price at all, his price is neither high nor low, butjust that price that you will pay him. _

NATIVE PROVERB. 

CHAPTER IV

Of course an Afridi can be depended on to overdo anything. Theparticular Afridi whom Ranjoor Singh had kicked was able to see verylittle virtue in Yasmin's method of attack. Suckled in a mountain-range where vengeance is believed as real and worthy as love must betransitory, his very bowels ached for physical retaliation, just ashis skin and bones smarted from the beating the risaldar-major's menhad given him. 

He was scoffed at by small boys as he slunk through byways of thebig bazaar. A woman who had smiled at him but a day ago now emptiedunseemly things on him from an upper story when he went to moanbeneath her window. He decided to include that woman in hisvengeance, too, if possible, but not to miss Ranjoor Singh on heraccount; there was not room for him and Ranjoor Singh on one rain-pelted earth, but, if needs must, the woman might wait a while. 

As nearly all humans do when their mood is similar to his, he slunkinto dark places, growling like a dog and believing all the world hisenemy. He came very near to the summit of exasperation when, onmaking application at a free dispensary, his sores were dressed forhim by a Hindu assistant apothecary who lectured him on brotherlylove with interlarded excerpts from Carlyle done into Hindustani. Butthe climax came when a native policeman poked him in the ribs with atruncheon and ordered him out of sight. 

With a snarl that would have done credit to a panther driven off itsprey, he slunk up a byway to shelter himself and think of newobscenities; and as he stood beneath a cloth awning to await thepassing of a more than usually heavy downpour, the rotten fibersburst at last and let ten gallons of filthy rain down on him. 

From that minute he could see only red; so it was in a red haze thattwo of the troopers from Ranjoor Singh's squadron passed the end ofthe lane. He felt himself clutching at a red knife, breathing red airthrough distended nostrils. He forgot his sores; forgot to feel them. 

As he hunted the two troopers through the maze of streets, herecognized them for two of the men who had thrashed him; so he drewcloser, for fear they might escape him in the crowd. Now that he nolonger wandered objectless, but looked ahead and walked with a willand a purpose, street-corner "constabeels" ceased to trouble him;there were too many people in those thronged, kaleidoscopic streetsfor any but the loafers to be noticed. He drew nearer and nearer tothe troopers, all unsuspected. 

But the pace was fast, and they approached their barracks, where hischance of ramming a knife into them and getting away unseen would beincreasingly more remote; and he had no desire to die until he hadkilled the other four men, Ranjoor Singh himself, and the woman whohad spurned his love. He must kill these two, he decided, while yetsafe from barrack hue and cry. 

He crept yet closer, and--now that his plan was forming in his mind-began to see less red. In a minute more he recognized a house at astreet corner, whose lower story once had been a shop, but that nowwas boarded up and showed from outside little sign of occupation. Buthe saw that the door at the end of an alley by the building was ajar, and through a chink between the shutters of an upper story his keennorthern eyes detected lamp-light. That was enough. He set his teethand drew his long clean knife. 

Wounds, bruises, pain, all mean nothing to a hillman when there ismurder in his eye, unless they be spurs that goad him to greaterfrenzy and more speed. The troopers swaggered at a drilled man'smarching pace; the Afridi came like a wind--devil, ripping down agully from the northern hills, all frenzy. 

Had he not seen red again, had only a little brain--work mingled inhis rage, he would have scored a clean victory and have been free towreak red vengeance on the rest. As it was, rage mastered him, and heyelled as he drove the long knife home between the shoulders of oneof the troopers in front of him. 

That yell was a mistake, for he was dealing with picked, drilled menof birth and a certain education. The struck man sank to his knees, but the other turned in time to guard the next blow with his forearm;he seized a good fistful of the Afridi's bandages and landed hard onhis naked foot with the heel of an ammunition boot. The Afridiscreamed like a wild beast as he wrenched himself away, leaving thebandages in the trooper's hand; and for an instant the trooper halfturned to succor his comrade. 

"Nay, after him!" urged the wounded man in the Jat tongue; and, seeing a crowd come running from four directions, the Sikh let himlie, to race after the Afridi. 

He caught little more than a glimpse of torn clothes disappearingthrough the little door at the end of the alley by the boarded shop, and a second after he had started in pursuit he saw the door shutwith a slam and thought he heard a bolt snick home. 

The door, though small, looked stout, and, thinking as he charged tothe assault, the Sikh put all the advantage he had of weight, andsteel-shod boots, and strength, and speed into the effort. A yardfrom the door he took off, as a man does at the broad jump in theinter-regimental sports, landing against the lower panel with hisheels two feet from the bottom. 

The door went inward as if struck by a blast of dynamite, and theSikh's head struck a flagstone. Long strong arms seized him by thefeet and dragged him inside. Then the door closed again, and thistime a bolt really did shoot home, to be followed by two others and abar that fitted vertically into the beam above and the floor beneath. 

Outside, thirty feet from the street corner, the crowd came togetheras a tide-race meets amid the rocks, roaring, shouting, surging, swaying back and forth, nine-tenths questioning at the limit of itslungs, and one-tenth yelling information that was false before theyhad it. Those at the back believed already that there were ten mendown. In the next street there was supposed to be a riot. And theshrill repeated whistle of the nearest policeman summoning helpconfirmed the crowd in its belief, besides convincing it of newatrocities as yet unguessed. 

Only one man in the crowd had wit enough to carry the tale tobarracks where it might be expected to produce action. He was aBengali babu, bare of leg and fat of paunch, who had enoughimagination to conceive of a regiment in receipt of the news, and themental picture so appealed to him that he held his protruding stomachin both hands while he ran down-street like a landslide, his mouthagape and his eyes all but popping from his head. 

He reached the barrack gate speechless and breathless, just asRanjoor Singh rode up on Bagh, mud-plastered after an afternoon'swork teaching scouts. He clung to the risaldar-major's stirrup, andwas dragged ten feet, slobbering and bubbling incoherencies, beforethe savage charger could be reined in and made to stand. 

"What is it, oh, _babuji?_" laughed Ranjoor Singh. "Are theMoslems out after your temple gods?"

"Aha! Run! Gallop! Bring all the guns!" This in English, all of it. "Blood in the gutter--blood like water--twentee policemen are alreadydead, and your men have done it! Gallop quicklee. _Jaldee, jaldee!_"

"Go and get twenty more policemen to wipe away the blood!" advisedRanjoor Singh, sitting back in the saddle to get a better look athim, and reining back the impatient Bagh. "I am not a constabeel; Iam a soldier. "

"Aha! Yes. You better hurry. All your men are underneath--what-you-call-it?--bottom dog. You better hurry like slippery! One Afridi isbeginning things, and where is one Afridi with a long knife are manymore kinds of trouble!"

The babu was recovering his breath, and with it his yearning tobehold a regiment careering through the barrack gate to the rescue. He still clung to the stirrup, and since he would not let go, RanjoorSingh proceeded to tow him, with a cautious, booted right leg readyto spur Bagh away to the left should the brute commence to kick. 

"You are hard-hearted person, and your fate is forever sealed if yourefuse to listen!" wailed the babu. "The blood of your men lies instreet calling aloud for vengeance!" A university education workswonders for babu vocabulary. "I tell you it is a riot, and mostextremelee serious affair!"

That was the wrong appeal to make, as the babu himself would haveknown had he been less excited. In time of riot the place for a Sikhofficer would be at the regiment's headquarters, in readiness for theorder from a civil magistrate without which interference would costhim his commission. But the babu was beside himself, what withbreathlessness and disappointment. He decided it was expedient tostrengthen his appeal, and his imagination was still working. 

"There will be two regiments of Tommees--drunken Tommees, presentlee. They will take your men to jail. The Tommees are alreadyon the way. Should they get there first your men will beeverlastinglee disgraced as well as muleted. You should hurry. "

Ranjoor Singh ceased from frowning and looked satisfied. If therewere trouble enough in the bazaar to call for the despatch of Britishsoldiers to the scene, then nothing in the world was more certainthan that any men of his who happened to be in danger would berescued with neatness and speed. If there was no trouble yet, therewould very likely be some swearing when the soldiers got there. Inthe meantime he was wet through, both with rain and perspiration. Thethought of a bath and dry clothes urged him like the voice of a sirencalling; and he had shown the babu all the courtesy his Sikh creedand profession demanded. 

So he clucked to Bagh, and the big brute plunged into a canter, justas eager for his sais and gram as his master was for clean dryclothes. For two strides the babu clung to the stirrup, wrenching itfree from the risaldar-major's foot; then the horse grew savage atthe unaccustomed extra weight, and lashed out hard behind him, missing the babu twice in quick succession, but filling him full tothe stuttering teeth with fear. Ranjoor Singh touched the horse withhis right spur, and in a second the babu lay along on his stomach inthe mud. 

He lay for a minute, believing himself dead. Then he cried aloud, since he knew he must be broken into pieces. Then he felt himself. Atlast he rose, and after a speechless glance at the back of therisaldar-major, started slowly along the street toward where the"riot" was. 

"It is enough, " he said in English, since he was a "failed B. A. , ""to try the patience of Job's comforter. This militaree business hascorrupted even Sikh cavalry until they no longer are dependable. Yes. It is time! It is time indeed that German influence be felt, in orderthat British yoke may be cast off for good and all. Now I take it aGerman soldier would have arrested everybodee, and I would havereceived much _kudos_ in addition to cash reward paid forinformation. In meantime, it is to be seen whether or not--yes, precisely--a pencil is mightier than a sword, which means that a babuis superior in wit and general attainments. Let us see!"

He began to run again, at a truly astonishing pace, considering hispaunch and all-round ungainliness, getting over the ground fasterthan many a thin man could have done. As he ran his lips worked, forthough he had no breath to spare for speech, his brain was formingwords that crowded for expression. 

"The Sikhs!" he screamed, as he came within earshot of the millingcrowd, through which four small policemen were trying to force apath. "The Sikhs! They ride to the rescue!"

"The Sikhs!" yelled somebody on the edge of the crowd, who had morebreath but not enough imagination to ask questions. "The Sikhs arecoming! Run!"

"The Sikhs! The Sikhs!"

The crowd took it up. And since it was a crowd, and there wasnothing else to do; and since it had had protection but no violenceat Sikh hands ever since '57; and since the babu really did lookfrightened, it shouted that the Sikhs were coming until it believedthe news and had made itself thoroughly afraid. 

"Run, brothers!" shouted some man in the middle who owned a voicelike a bull-buffalo's. And that being a new idea and just as good asany, the whole crowd took to its heels, leaving the four policemenstaring at the body of a dead Sikh, and the fat babu complacentlyregarding all of them. 

Presently a European police officer trotted up on a white pony, examined the body, asked a dozen questions of the four policemen, wrote in his memorandum book, and ordered the body to be taken to themorgue. 

"Come here, you!" he called to the babu. 

So the babu waddled to him, judging his salaam shrewdly so that itsuggested deference while leaving no doubt as to the intended insult. 

"What do you know about this?"

"As peaceful citizen in pursuance of daily bread and otherperquisites, I claim protection of police! While proceeding on waywas thrown to ground violentlee by galloping horse whose rider urgedsame in opposite direction. Observe my deshabille. Regard this mud onmy person. I insist on full rigor of the law for which I am taxedinordinately. "

"What sort of a horse? Who rode it? How long ago?"

"Am losing all count of time since being overwhelmed. Should sayveree recently, however. The horse was ridden by a person who urgedit vehemently. It was a brown horse, I think. "

"Which way did he go?"

"How should I know? He went away, knocking me over in transit andcausing me great distress. "

"Was he armed?"

"Two arms. With one he steered the animal. With the other he urgedhim, thus. "

The babu described in pantomime an imaginary human riding for hislife, whom not even the adroitest police officer could recognize asRanjoor Singh, even had he been acquainted with the risaldar-major. 

"Had he a weapon of any kind?"

"Not knowing, would prefer to say nothing about that. It was withthe horse--with the rump of the animal that he hit me, and not with asword of any kind. "

"Well, you had better come with me to the office, and there we'lltake down your deposition. "

"Am I arrested?"

"No. You're a witness. "

"On the contrary, I am prosecutor! I demand as stated formerly fullrigor of the law. I demand capture and arrest, together with fine andimprisonment of party assaulting me, failing which I shall addresscomplaint to government!"

"Come along. We'll talk about that at the office. "

So the babu was escorted to the stuffy little police office, wherehe was made to sit on a bench beside ten native witnesses of othercrimes; and presently he was called to a desk at which a native clerkpresided. There he was made to recite his story again, and since hehad had time in which to think, he told a most amazing, disconnectedyarn that looked even more untruthful by the time the clerk hadwritten his own version of it on a sheet. To this version the babuwas required to swear, and he did so without a blink. 

Then there was more delay, while somebody was found who knew him andcould certify to his address, and it was nearly evening by the timehe was allowed to go. 

 * * * * *

It was also nearly evening when a messenger arrived at the barracksto report the death of a Sikh trooper by murder in the bazaar. Theman's name and regimental number proved him to have been one of DSquadron's men, and since its commander, Ranjoor Singh, was then inquarters, the news was brought to him at once. 

"Killed where?" he demanded; so they told him. 

"Exactly when?"

It became evident to Ranjoor Singh that there had been some truthafter all in the babu's tale. The verbal precis of the only witness, given from memory, about a man who galloped away on horseback, threwno light at all on the case; so, because he could think of nothingbetter to do at the moment, the risaldar-major sent for a _tikka-gharri_ and drove down to the morgue to identify the body. 

On the way back from the morgue he looked in at the police station, but the babu had been gone some ten minutes when he arrived. 

The police could tell him nothing. It was explained that the crowddirectly after the murder had been too great to allow any but thosenearest to see anything; and it was admitted that the crowd had beensuddenly panic-stricken and had scattered before the police couldsecure witnesses. So he drove away, wondering, and ordered the driverto follow the road taken by the murdered trooper. 

It was just on the edge of evening, when the lighted street-lampswere yet too pale to show distinctly, that he passed the disusedboarded shop and saw, on the side of the street opposite, the babuwho had brought him the story of riot that afternoon. He stopped hiscarriage and stepped out. On second thought he ordered the carriageaway, for he was in plain clothes and not likely to attract notice;and he had a suspicion in his mind that he might care to investigatea little on his own account. He walked straight to the babu, and thatgentleman eyed him with obvious distrust. 

"Did you see my trooper murdered?" he demanded; for he had learneddirectness under Colonel Kirby, and applied it to every difficultythat confronted him. 

Natives understand directness from an Englishman, and can parry it;but from another native it bewilders them, just as a left-handedswordsman is bewildered by another left-hander. The babu blinked. 

"How much had you seen when you ran to warn me this afternoon?"

The babu looked pitiful. His fat defenseless body was an absolutecontrast to the Sikh's tall manly figure. His eye was furtive, glancing ever sidewise; but the Sikh looked straight and spokeabruptly though with a note of kindness in his voice. 

"There is no need to fear me, " he said, since the babu would notanswer. "Speak! How much do you know?"

So the babu took heart of grace, producing a voice from somewheredown in his enormous stomach and saying, of course, the very lastthing expected of him. 

"Grief chokes me!" he asserted. 

"Take care that I choke thee not, _babuji_! I have asked aquestion. I am no lawyer to maneuver for my answer. Did you see thattrooper killed?"

The babu nodded; but his nod was not much more than tentative. Hecould have denied it next minute without calling much on hisimagination. 

"Oh! Which way went the murderer?"

"Grief overwhelms me!" said the babu. 

"Grief for what?"

"For my money--my good money--my emoluments!"

Direct as an arrow though he was in all his dealings, Ranjoor Singhhad not forgotten how the Old East thinks. He recognized thepreliminaries of a bargain, and searched his mind to recall how muchmoney he had with him; to have searched his pocket would have beentoo puerile. 

"What of them?"

"Lost!"

"Where? How?"

"While standing here, observing movements of him whom I suspected tobe murderer, a person unknown--possibly a Sikh--perhaps not--removedmoney surreptitiously from my person. "

"How much money?"

"Rupees twenty-five, annas eight, " said the babu unwinking. Heneither blushed nor hesitated. 

"I will take compassion on your loss and replace five rupees of it, "said Ranjoor Singh, "when you have told me which way the murdererwent. "

"My eyes are too dim, and my heart too full with grief, " said thebabu. "No man's memory works under such conditions. Now, that money--"

"I will give you ten rupees, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

This was too easy! The babu was prepared to bargain for an hour, fighting for rupee after rupee until his wit assured him he hadreached the limit. Now he began to believe he had set the limit fartoo low. 

"I do not remember, " he said slowly but with great conviction, scratching at his stomach as if he kept his recollections stored there. 

"You said twenty-five rupees, eight annas? Well, I will pay the halfof it, and no more, " said Ranjoor Singh in a new voice that seemed tosuggest unutterable things. "Moreover, I will pay it when I haveproved thy memory true. Now, scratch that belly of thine and let thethoughts come forth!"

"Nay, sahib, I forget. "

Ranjoor Singh drew out his purse and counted twelve rupees and threequarters into the palm of his hand. 

"Which way?" he demanded. 

"Twenty-five rupees, eight annas of earned emolument--gone while Iwatched the movements of a murderer! It is not easy to keep braveheart and remember things!"

"See here, thou bellyful of memories! Remember and tell me, or Ireturn this money to my purse and march thee by the nape of thy fatneck to the police station, where they will put thee in a cell forthe night and jog thy memory in ways the police are said tounderstand! Speak! Here, take the money!"

The babu reached out a fat hand and the silver changed owners. 

"There!" said the babu, jerking a thumb over his right shoulder. "Through that door!"

"That narrow teak door, down the passage?"

But the babu was gone, hurrying as if goaded by fear of hell and allits angels. 

Ranjoor Singh strode across the street in a bee-line and entered thedark passage. He had seen the yellow light of a lamp-flame through achink in an upper shutter, and he intended to try directness on theproblem once again. It was ten full paces down the passage to thedoor; he counted them, finishing the last one with a kick against thepanel that would have driven it in had it been less than teak. 

There came no answer, so he kicked again. Then he beat on the doorwith his clenched fists. Presently he turned his back to the door andkept up a steady thunder on it with his heels. And then, after aboutfive minutes, he heard movement within. 

He congratulated himself then that the noise he had made had calledthe attention of passers-by and of all the neighbors, and though hehad had no fear and no other intention than to enter the house at allcosts, he certainly had that much less compunction now. 

He heard three different bolts drawn back, and then there was apause. He thought he heard whispering, so he resumed his thunder. Almost at once there followed the unmistakable squeak of a big beamturning on its pivot, and the door opened about an inch. 

He pushed, but some one inside pushed harder, and the door closedagain. So Ranjoor Singh leaned all his weight and strength againstthe door, drawing in his breath and shoving with all his might. Resistance ceased. The door flew inward, as it had done once beforethat day, and closed with a bang behind him. 

 Long were the days and oh! wicked the weather-- Endless and thankless the round-- Grinding God's Grit into rookies together; I was the upper stone, he was the nether, And Gad, sir, they groaned as we ground! Bitter the blame (but he helped me to bear it), Grim the despair that we ate! But hell's loose! The dam's down, and none can repair it! 'Tis our turn! Go, summon my brother to share it! His squadron's at arms, and we wait!

CHAPTER V

A regiment is more exacting of its colonel than ever was lady of herlord; the more truly he commands, the better it loves him, until atlast the regiment swallows him and he becomes part of it, in thoughtand word and deed. Distractions such as polo, pig-sticking, tiger-shooting are tolerable insofar as they steady his nerve and train hishand and eye; to that extent they, too, subserve the regiment. But awoman is a rival. So it is counted no sin against a cavalry colonelshould he be a bachelor. 

There remained no virtue, then, in the eyes of Outram's Own forColonel Kirby to acquire; he had all that they could imagine, besidesat least a dozen they had not imagined before he came to them. Therewas not one black-bearded gentleman who couched a lance behind himbut believed Colonel Kirby some sort of super-man; and, in return, Colonel Kirby found the regiment so satisfying that there was noteven a lady on the sky-line who could look forward to encroaching onthe regiment's preserves. 

His heart, his honor, and his rare ability were all the regiment's, and the regiment knew it; so he was studied as is the lot of few. Hisservant knew which shoes he would wear on a Thursday morning, andwould have them ready; the mess-cook spiced the curry so exactly tohis taste that more than one cook-book claimed it to be a speciesapart and labeled it with his name. If he frowned, the troopers knewsomebody had tried to flatter him; if he smiled, the regimentgrinned; and when his face lacked all expression, though his eyeswere more than usually quick, officer, non-commissioned officer andman alike would sit tight in the saddle, so to speak, and gather uptheir reins. 

His mood was recognized that afternoon as he drove back from theclub while he was yet four hundred yards away, although twilight wasclosing down. The waler mare--sixteen three and a half, with onewhite stocking and a blaze that could be seen from the sky-line--brought his big dog-cart through the street mud at a speed whichwould have insured the arrest of the driver of a motor; but that, ifanything, was a sign of ordinary health. 

Nor was the way he took the corner by the barrack gate, on onewheel, any criterion; he always did it, just as he never failed toacknowledge the sentry's salute by raising his whip. It needed theobservant eyes of Outram's Own to detect the rather strained calmnessand the almost inhumanly active eye. 

"Beware!" called the sentry, while he was yet three hundred yardsaway. "Be awake!"

"Be awake! Be awake! Beware!"

The warning went from lip to lip, troop to troop, from squadronstables on to squadron stables, until six hundred men were ready forall contingencies. A civilian might not have recognized thedifference, but Kirby's soldier servant awakened from his nap on thecolonel's door-mat and straightened his turban in a hurry, perfectlywell aware that there was something in the wind. 

It was too early to dress for dinner yet; too late to dress forgames of any kind. The servant was nonplussed. He stood in silence, awaiting orders that under ordinary circumstances, or at an ordinaryhour, would have been unnecessary. But for a while no orders came. The only sound in those extremely unmarried quarters was the steadydrip of water into a flat tin bath that the servant had put beneath aspot where the roof leaked; the rain had ceased but the ceiling clothstill drooped and drooled. 

Suddenly Kirby threw himself backward into a long chair, and theservant made ready for swift action. 

"Present my compliments to Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh sahib, andask him to be good enough to see me here. "

The servant saluted and was gone. Kirby relapsed again into thedepth of the chair, staring at the wall in front of him, letting hiseye travel from one to another of the accurately spaced-out pictures, pieces of furniture and trophies that proclaimed him unmarried. Therewas nothing whatever in his quarters to decoy him from his love. There were polo sticks in a corner where a woman would have placed astandard lamp, and where the flowers should have stood was a chest tohold horse-medicines. There was a vague smell about the place ofvarnish, polish and good leather. 

The servant was back again, stiff at the salute, within five minutes. 

"_Ne hai_. "

"Not there? Not where? Not in his quarters? Then go and find him. Ask where he is. Hurry!"

So, since the regiment was keyed to watchfulness, it took about fiveminutes more before it was known that Ranjoor Singh was not inbarracks. The servant returned to report that he had been seendriving toward the bazaar in a _tikka-gharri_. 

Then entered Warrington, the adjutant, and the servant was dismissedat once. 

"Bad business, " said Warrington, looking thoroughly cheerful. 

"What now?"

"One of Squadron D's men murdered in the bazaar this afternoon. Body's in the morgue in charge of the police. 'Nother man who waswith him apparently missing. No explanation, and the p'lice say therearen't any clues. "

He twisted at a little black mustache and began to hum. 

"Know where Ranjoor Singh is by any chance?" asked Kirby. 

"Give me three guesses--no, two. One--he's raising hell with allthe police in Delhi. Two--he's at the scene of the murder, doingdetective work on his own. I heard he'd driven away--and, anyhow, it's his squadron. Man's probably his second cousin, twenty or thirtytimes removed. "

"Send somebody to find him!" ordered Kirby. 

"Say you want to have a word with him?"

Kirby nodded, and Warrington swaggered out, humming to himselfexactly as he hoped to be humming when his last grim call shouldcome, the incarnation of efficiency, awake and very glad. A certainnumber of seconds after he had gone two mounted troopers clatteredout toward the bazaar. Ten minutes later Warrington returned. 

"D Squadron's squattin' on its hunkers in rings an' lookin' gloomy, "he said, as if he were announcing some good news that had a touch ofhumor in it. "By the look of 'em you'd say they'd been passed overfor active service and were meditatin' matrimony. "

"By gad, Warrington! You don't know how near that guess is to thetruth!"

Kirby's lips were smiling, but his voice was hard. Warringtonglanced quickly at him once and then looked serious. 

"You mean--"

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"Has it broken yet?"

"No. "

"Is it goin' to break?"

"Looks like it. Looks to me as if it's all been prearranged. Ourcrowd are sparring for time, and the Prussians are all in a hurry. Looks that way to me. "

"And you mean--there's a chance--even a chance of us--of Outram'sOwn bein' out of it? Beg your pardon, sir, but are you serious?"

"Yes, " said Kirby, and Warrington's jaw fell. 

"Any details that are not too confidential for me to know?" askedWarrington. 

"Tell you all about it after I've had a word with Ranjoor Singh. "

"Hadn't I better go and help look for him?"

"Yes, if you like. "

So, within another certain number of split seconds, Captain CharlieWarrington rode, as the French say, belly-to-the-earth, and the factthat the monsoon chose that instant to let pour another Noah's delugeseemed to make no difference at all to his ardor or the pace to whichhe spurred his horse. 

An angry police officer grumbled that night at the club about thearrogance of all cavalrymen, but of one Warrington in particular. 

"Wanted to know, by the Big Blue Bull of Bashan, whether I knew whena case was serious or not! Yes, he did! Seemed to think the murder ofone sowar was the only criminal case in all Delhi, and had the nerveto invite me to set every constable in what he termed my parish onthe one job. What did I say? Told him to call to-morrow, of course--said I'd see. Gad! You should have heard him swear then--thought hiseyes 'ud burn holes in my tunic. Went careering out of the office asif war had been declared. "

"Talking of war, " said somebody, nursing a long drink under theswinging punkah, "do you suppose--"

So the manners of India's pet cavalry were forgotten at once in thevortex of the only topic that had interest for any one in clubdom, and it was not noticed whether Warrington or his colonel, or anyother officer of native cavalry looked in at the club that night. 

 * * * * *

Warrington rode into the rain at the same speed at which he hadgalloped to the police station, overhauled one of the mountedtroopers whom he himself had sent in search of Ranjoor Singh, ratedhim soundly in Punjabi for loafing on the way, and galloped on withthe troop-horse laboring in his wake. He reined in abreast of thesecond trooper, who had halted by a cross-street and was trying toappear to enjoy the deluge. 

"Any word?" asked Warrington. 

"I spoke with two who said he entered by that door-that small doordown the passage, sahib, where there is no light. It is a teak door, bolted and with no keyhole on the outside. "

"Good for you, " said Warrington, glancing quickly up and down thewet street, where the lamps gleamed deceptively in pools of runningwater. There seemed nobody in sight; but that is a bold guess inDelhi, where the shadows all have eyes. 

He gave a quiet order, and trooper number one passed his reins tonumber two. 

"Go and try that door. Kick it in if you can--but be quick, and trynot to be noisy!"

The trooper swung out of the saddle and obeyed, while Warrington andthe other man faced back to back, watching each way against surprise. In India, as in lands less "civilized, " the cavalry are not allowedto usurp the functions of police, and the officer or man who tries itdoes so at his own risk. There came a sound of sudden thundering onteak that ceased after two minutes. 

"The door is stout. There is no answer from within, " said the trooper. 

"Then wait here on foot, " commanded Warrington. "Get under cover andwatch. Stay here until you're relieved, unless something particularlyworth reporting happens; in that case, hurry and report. Forinstance"--he hesitated, trying to imagine something out of theunimaginable--"suppose the risaldar-major were to come out, then givehim the message and come home with him. But--oh, suppose the placetakes fire, or there's a riot, or you hear a fight going on inside--then hurry to barracks--understand?"

The wet trooper nodded and saluted. 

"Get into a shadow, then, and keep as dry as you can, " orderedWarrington. "Come on!" he called to the other man. 

And a second later he was charging through the street as if he rodewith despatches through a zone of rifle fire. Behind him clattered arain-soaked trooper and two horses. 

Colonel Kirby stepped out of his bathroom just as Warringtonarrived, and arranged his white dress-tie before the sitting-roommirror. 

"Looks fishy to me, sir, " said Warrington, hurrying in and standingwhere the rain from his wet clothes would do least harm. 

There was a space on the floor between two tiger-skins where thematting was a little threadbare. Messengers, orderlies or servantsalways stood on that spot. After a moment, however, Kirby's servantbrought Warrington a bathroom mat. 

"How d'ye mean?"

Warrington explained. 

"What did the police say?"

"Said they were busy. "

"Now, I could go to the club, " mused Kirby, "and see Hetherington, and have a talk with him, and get him to sign a search-warrant. Armedwith that, we could--"

"Perhaps persuade a police officer to send two constables with itto-morrow morning!" said Warrington, with a grin. 

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"And if we do much on our own account we'll fall foul of the IndianPenal Code, which altereth every week, " said Warrington. 

"If it weren't for the fact that I particularly want a word withhim, " said Kirby, giving a last tweak to his tie and reaching out forhis mess-jacket that the servant had laid on a chair, "there'd not bemuch ground that I can see for action of any kind. He has a right togo where he likes. "

That point of view did not seem to have occurred to Warringtonbefore; nor did he quite like it, for he frowned. 

"On the other hand, " said Kirby, diving into his mess-jacket andshrugging his neat shoulders until they fitted into it as a chargerfits into his skin, "under the circumstances--and taking intoconsideration certain private information that has reached me--if Iwere supposed to be behind a bolted door in the bazaar, I'd ratherappreciate it if Ranjoor Singh, for instance, were to--ah--takeaction of some kind. "

"Exactly, sir. "

"Hallo--what's that?"

 * * * * *

A motor-car, driven at racing speed, thundered up the lane betweenthe old stacked cannon and came to a panting standstill by thecolonel's outer door. A gruff question was answered gruffly, and aman's step sounded on the veranda. Then the servant flung the doorwide, and a British soldier stepped smartly into the room, salutedand held out a telegram. 

Kirby tore it open. His eyes blazed, but his hands were steady. Thesoldier held out a receipt book and a pencil, and Kirby took time toscribble his initials in the proper place. Warrington, humming tohimself, began to squeeze the rain out of his tunic to hideimpatience. The soldier saluted, faced about and hurried to thewaiting car. Then Kirby read the telegram. He nodded to Warrington. Warrington, his finger-ends pressed tight into his palms and hisforearms quivering, raised one eyebrow. 

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"War, sir?"

"War. "

"We're under orders?"

"Not yet. It says, 'War likely to be general. Be ready. ' Here, readit for yourself. "

"They wouldn't have sent us that if--"

"Addressed to 0. C. Troops. They had those ready written out and sentone to every O. C. On the list the second they knew. "

"Well, sir?"

"Leave the room, Lal Singh!"

The servant, who was screwing up his courage to edge nearer, did ashe was told. 

Kirby stood still, facing the mirror, with both arms behind him. 

"They're certain to send native Indian troops to Europe, " he said. 

"We're ready, sir! We're ready to a shoe-string! We'll go first!"

"We'll be last, Warrington, supposing we go at all, unless we findRanjoor Singh! They'll send us to do police work in Bengal, or toguard the Bombay docks and watch the other fellows go. I'm going tothe club. You'd better come with me. Hurry into dry clothes. " Heglanced at the clock. "We'll just have time to drive past the housewhere you say he's supposed to be, if you hurry. "

The last three words were lost, for Captain Warrington had turnedinto a thunderbolt and disappeared; the noise of his going was aswhen a sudden windstorm slams all the doors at once. A moment laterhe could be heard shouting from outside his quarters to his servantto be ready for him. 

He certainly bathed, for the noise of the tub overturning when hewas done with it was unmistakable. And eight minutes after hisdeparture he was back again, dressed, cloaked and ready. 

"Got your pistol, sir?"

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"Thought I'd bring mine along. You never know, you know. "

Together they climbed into the colonel's dog-cart, well smotheredunder waterproofs. Kirby touched up another of his road-devouringwalers, the sais grabbed at the back seat and jumped for his life, and they shot out of the compound, down the line of useless cannonand out into the street, taking the corner as the honor of theregiment required. Then the two big side-lamps sent their shafts oflight straight down the metaled, muddy road, and the horse settleddown between them to do his equine "demdest"; there was a touch onthe reins he recognized. 

 * * * * *

They reached the edge of the bazaar to find the crowd stirring, although strangely mute. 

"They'll have got the news in an hour from now, " said Kirby. "Theycan smell it already. "

"Wonder how much truth there is in all this talk about Germanmerchants and propaganda. "

"_H-rrrrr-ummm_!" said Kirby. 

"Steady, sir! Lookout!"

The near wheel missed a native woman by a fraction of an inch, andher shrill scream followed them. But Kirby kept his eyes ahead, andthe shadows continued to flash by them in a swift procession untilWarrington leaned forward, and then Kirby leaned back against thereins. 

"There he is, sir!"

They reined to a halt, and a drenched trooper jumped up behind tokneel on the back seat and speak in whispers. 

"No sign of him at all?" asked Kirby. 

"No, sahib. But there has been a light behind a shutter above there. It comes and goes. They light it and extinguish it. "

"Has anybody come out of that door?"

"No, sahib. "

"None gone in?"

"None. "

"Any other door to the place?"

"There may be a dozen, sahib. That is an old house, and it backs upagainst six others. "

"What we suffer from in this country is information, " saidWarrington, beginning to hum to himself. 

But Kirby signed to the trooper, and the man began to scramble outof the cart. 

"Between now and our return, report to the club if anythinghappens, " called Warrington. 

The whip swished, the horse shot forward, and they were off again asif they would catch up with the hurrying seconds. People scattered tothe right and left in front of them; a constable at a street crossingblew his whistle frantically; once the horse slipped in a deeppuddle, and all but came to earth; but they reached the club withoutmishap and drove up the winding drive at a speed more in keeping withconvention. 

"Oh, hallo, Kirby! Glad you've come!" said a voice. 

"Evening, sir!"

Kirby descended, almost into the arms of a general in evening dress. They walked into the club together, leaving the adjutant wonderingwhat to do. He decided to follow them at a decent distance, stillhumming and looking happy enough for six men. 

"You'll be among the first, " said the general. "Are you ready, Kirby--absolutely ready?"

"Yes, "

"The wires are working to the limit. It isn't settled yet whethertroops go from here via Canada or the Red Sea--probably won't beuntil the Navy's had a chance to clear the road. All that's known--yet--is that Belgium's invaded, and that every living man Jack whocan be hurried to the front in time to keep the Germans out of Pariswill be sent. Hold yourself ready to entrain any minute, Kirby. "

"Is martial law proclaimed yet?" asked Kirby in a voice that thegeneral seemed to think was strained, for he looked around sharply. 

"Not yet. Why?"

"Information, sir. Anything else?"

"No. Good night. "

"Good night, sir. "

Kirby nearly ran into Warrington as he hurried back toward the door. 

"Find a police officer!" he ordered. 

"They all passed you a minute ago, sir, " answered Warrington. "They're headed for police headquarters. Heard one of 'em say so. "

Kirby pulled himself together. A stranger would not have noticedthat he needed it, but Warrington at his elbow saw the effort and wasglad. 

"Go to police headquarters, then, " he ordered. "Try to get them tobring a dozen men and search, that house; but don't say that RanjoorSingh's in there. "

"Where'll I find you, sir?"

"Barracks. Oh, by the way, we're a sure thing for the front. "

"I knew there was some reason why I kept feelin' cheerful!" saidWarrington. "The risaldar-major looks like gettin' left. "

"Unless, " said Kirby, "you can get the police to act to-night--orunless martial law's proclaimed at once, and I can think of an excuseto search the house with a hundred men myself. Find somebody to giveyou a lift. So long. "

Kirby swung into his dog-cart, the sais did an acrobatic turnbehind, and again the horse proceeded to lower records. Zigzag-wise, through streets that were growing more and yet more thronged insteadof silent, they tore barrackward, missing men by a miracle everytwelve yards. Kirby's eyes were on a red blotch, now, that danced andglowed above the bazaar a mile ahead. It reminded him of pain. 

Presently the horse sniffed smoke, and notified as much beforesettling down into his stride again. The din of hoarse excitementreached Kirby's ears, and in a moment more a khaki figure leaped outof a shadow and a panting trooper snatched at the back seat, wasgrabbed by the sais, and swung up in the rear. 

"Sahib--"

"All right. I know, " said Kirby, though he did not know how he knew. 

They raced through another dozen streets until the glare grewblinding and the smoke nearly choked him. Then they were stoppedentirely by the crowd, and Colonel Kirby sat motionless; for he had anearly perfect view of a holocaust. The house in which Ranjoor Singhwas supposed to be was so far burned that little more than the wallswas standing. 

 The North Wind hails from the Northern snows, (His voice is loud--oh, listen ye!) He cried of death--the death he knows-- Of the mountain death. (Oh, listen ye!) Who looks to the North for love looks long! Who goes to the North for gain goes wrong! Men's hearts are hard, and the goods belong To the strong in the North! (Oh, listen ye!) Whose lot is fair--who loves his life-- Walks wide, stays wide of the Northern knife! (Ye men o' the world, oh, listen ye!)

YASMINI'S SONG. 

CHAPTER VI

There were police and to spare now, nor any doubt of it. Even thebreath of war's beginning could not keep them elsewhere when a firehad charge in the densest quarters of the danger zone. The din ofancient Delhi roared skyward, and the Delhi crowd surged and foughtto be nearer to the flame; but the police already had a cordon aroundthe building, and another detachment was forcing the swarms of menand women into eddying movement in which something like a systemdeveloped presently, for there began to be a clear space in which thefire brigade could work. 

"Any bodies recovered?" asked Colonel Kirby, leaning from the seatof his high dogcart to speak to the English fireman who stood sentryover the water-plug. 

"No, sir. The fire had too much headway before the alarm went in. When we got here the whole lower part was red-hot. "

"Any means of escape from the building from the rear?"

"As many as from a rat-run, sir. That house is as old as Delhi--about; and there are as any galleries up above connecting with housesat the rear as there are run-holes from cellar to cellar. "

"Any chance for anybody down in the cellar?"

"Doubt it, sir. The fire started there; the water'll do what thefire left undone. Pretty bad trap, sir, I should say, if you asked me. "

"No reports of escape or rescue?"

"None that I've heard tell of. "

"And the house seems doomed, eh? Be some days before they can sortthe debris over?"

"Lucky if we save the ten houses nearest it! Look, sir! There shegoes!"

The roof fell in, sending five separate volumes of red sparks upinto the cloudy night as floor after floor collapsed beneath theweight. The thunder of it was almost drowned in a roar of delight, for the crowd, sensing the new spirit of its masters, was in a moodfor the terrible. Then silence fell, as if that had been an overture. 

Out of the silence and through the sea of hot humanity, the white ofhis dress-shirt showing through the unbuttoned front of a militarycloak, Warrington rode a borrowed Arab pony, the pony's owner's saisrunning beside him to help clear a passage. Warrington was stillhumming to himself as he dismissed both sais and pony and climbed upbeside Kirby in the dog-cart. 

"If Ranjoor Singh's in that house, he's in a predicament, " he saidcheerfully. "I went to police headquarters, and the first officer Ispoke to told me to go to hell. So I went into the next office, whereall the big panjandrums hide--and some of the little ones--and theytold me what you know, sir, that the house is in flames and everypoliceman who can be spared is on the job, so I came to see. IfRanjoor Singh's in there--but I don't believe he is!"

"Why don't you?"

"I don't believe the Lord 'ud send us active service--not a real redwar against a real enemy--and play a low-down trick on Ranjoor Singh. Ranjoor Singh's a gentleman. It wouldn't be sportsmanlike to let himdie before the game begins. "

For a minute or two they watched the sparks go up and the crowdstriking at the rats that still seemed to find some place of exit. 

"There's a place below there that isn't red--hot yet, " said Kirby. "Those rats are not cooked through. Did you tell the police that youwanted a search warrant?"

"Yes. Might as well argue with an ant-heap. All of 'em too busytryin' for commissions in the Volunteers to listen. They've got itall cut an' dried--somebody in the basement upset a lamp, accordingto them--nobody up-stairs--nobody to turn in the alarm until the firehad complete charge! They offer to prove it when the fire's out andthey can sort the ashes. "

"Um-m-m! Tell 'em a trooper of ours saw a light there?"

"Yes. "

"What did they say?"

"'Doubtless the lamp that was kicked over!'"

Colonel Kirby clucked to his horse and worked a way out to the edgeof the crowd with the skill of one whose business is to handle men inquantity. Then he shot like a dart up side streets and made forbarracks by a detour. 

"Gad!" said Warrington suddenly. 

"Who's told 'em d'you suppose?"

"Dunno, sir. News leaks in Delhi like water from a lump of ice. "

In the darkness of the barrack wall there were more than a thousandmen, women and children, many of them Sikhs, who clamored to be toldthings, and by the gate was a guard of twenty men drawn up to keepthe crowd at bay. The shrill voices of the women drowned the answersof the native officer as well as the noise of the approaching wheels, and the guard had to advance into the road to clear a way for itscolonel. 

The native officer saluted and grinned. 

"Is it true, sahib?" he shouted, and Kirby raised his whip in theaffirmative. From that instant the guard began to make more noisethan the crowd beyond the wall. 

Kirby whipped his horse and took the drive that led to his quartersat a speed there was no overhauling. He wanted to be alone. But hissenior major had forestalled him and was waiting by his outer door. 

"Oh, hallo, Brammle. Yes, come in. "

"Is it peace, Jehu?" asked Brammle. 

"War. We'll be the first to go. No, no route yet--likely to get itany minute. "

"I'll bet, then. Bet you it's Bombay--a P. And O. --Red Sea andMarseilles! Oh, who wouldn't be light cavalry? First-class all theway, first aboard, and first crack at 'em! Any orders, sir?"

"Yes. Take charge. I'm going out, and Warrington's going with me. Don't know how long we'll be gone. If anybody asks for me, tell himI'll be back soon. Tell the men. "

"Somebody's told 'em--listen!"

"Tell 'em that whoever misbehaves from now forward will be leftbehind. Give 'em my definite promise on that point!"

"Anything else, sir?"

"No. "

"Then see you later. "

"See you later. "

The major went away, and Kirby turned to his adjutant. 

"Go and order the closed shay, Warrington. Pick a driver who won'ttalk. Have some grub sent in here to me, and join me at it in half anhour; say fifteen minutes later. I've some things to see to. "

Kirby wanted very much to be alone. The less actual contact acolonel has with his men, and the more he has with his officers, thebetter--as a rule; but it does not pay to think in the presence ofeither. Officers and men alike should know him as a man-who-has-thought, a man in whose voice is neither doubt nor hesitation. 

Thirty minutes later Warrington found him just emerging from a brownstudy. 

"India's all roots-in-the-air an' dancin'!" he remarked cheerfully. "There was a babu sittin' by the barrack gate who offers to eat aGerman a day, as long as we'll catch 'em for him. He's the same manthat was tryin' for a job as clerk the other day. "

"Fat man?"

"Very. "

"Uh-h-h! No credentials--bad hat! Send him packing?"

"The guard did. "

Food was laid on a small table by a silent servant who had eyes inthe back of his head and ears that would have caught and analyzed thelightest whisper; but the colonel and his adjutant ate hurriedly insilence, and the only thing remarkable that the servant was able toreport to the regiment afterward was that both drank only water. Since all Sikhs are supposed to be abstainers from strong drink, thatwas accepted as a favorable omen. 

The shay arrived on time to the second. It was the only closedcarriage the regiment owned--a heavy C-springed landau thing, takenover from the previous mess. The colonel peered through outerdarkness at the box seat, but the driver did not look toward him; allhe could see was that there was only one man on the box. 

"Where to?" asked Warrington. 

"The club. "

Warrington jumped in after him, and the driver sent his pairstraining at the traces as if they had a gun behind them. Threehundred yards beyond the barrack wall Colonel Kirby knelt on thefront seat and poked the driver from behind. 

"Oh! You?" he remarked, as he recognized a native risaldar of DSquadron. Until the novelty wears off it would disconcert any man todiscover suddenly that his coachman is a troop commander. 

"D'you know a person named Yasmini?" he asked. 

"Who does not, sahib?"

"Drive us to her house--in a hurry!"

The immediate answer was a plunge as the whip descended on bothhorses and the heavy carriage began to sway like a boat in a beam-seaswell. They tore through streets that were living streams of humanbeings--streams that split apart to let them through and closed likewater again behind them. With his spurred heels on the front seat, Warrington hummed softly to himself as ever, happy, so long as therewere only action. 

"I've heard India spoken of as dead, " he remarked after a while. "Gad! Look at that color against the darkness!"

"If Ranjoor Singh is dead, I'm going to know it!" said ColonelKirby. "And if he isn't dead, I'm going to dig him out or know thereason why. There's been foul play, Warrington. I happen to know thatRanjoor Singh has been suspected in a certain quarter. Incidentally, I staked my own reputation on his honesty this afternoon. Andbesides, we can't afford to lose a wing commander such as he is onthe eve of the real thing. We've got to find him!"

Once or twice as they flashed by a street-lamp they were recognizedas British officers, and then natives, who would have gone to sometrouble to seem insolent a few hours before, stopped to half-turn andsalaam to them. 

"Wonder how they'd like German rule for a change?" mused Warrington. 

"India doesn't often wear her heart on her sleeve, " said Kirby. 

"It's there to-night!" said Warrington. "India's awake, if this isDelhi and not a nightmare! India's makin' love to the British soldier-man!"

They tore through a city that is polychromatic in the daytime and bynight a dream of phantom silhouettes. But, that night, day and nightwere blended in one uproar, and the Chandni Chowk was at floodtide, wave on wave of excited human beings pouring into it from a hundredbystreets and none pouring out again. 

So the risaldar drove across the Chandni Chowk, fighting his waywith the aid of whip and voice, and made a wide circuit through darklanes where groups of people argued at the corners, and sometimes awould-be holy man preached that the end of the world had come. 

 * * * * *

They reached Yasmini's from the corner farthest from the ChandniChowk, and sprang out of the carriage the instant that the risaldardrew rein. 

"Wait within call!" commanded Kirby, and the risaldar raised his whip. 

Then, with his adjutant at his heels, Colonel Kirby dived throughthe gloomy opening in a wall that Yasmini devised to look as littlelike an approach to her--or heaven--as possible. 

"Wonder if he's brought us to the right place?" he whispered, sniffing into the moldy darkness. 

"Dunno, sir. There're stairs to your left. "

They caught the sound of faint flute music on an upper floor, and asKirby felt cautiously for his footing on the lower step Warringtonbegan to whistle softly to himself. Next to war, an adventure of thiskind was the nearest he could imagine to sheer bliss, and it was allhe could do to contrive to keep from singing. 

The heavy teak stairs creaked under their joint weight, and thoughtheir eyes could not penetrate the upper blackness, yet they bothsuspected rather than sensed some one waiting for them at the top, Kirby's right hand instinctively sought a pocket in his cloak. Warrington felt for his pistol, too. 

For thirty or more seconds--say, three steps--they went up likeconspirators, trying to move silently and holding to the rail; thenthe absurdity of the situation appealed to both, and without a wordsaid each stepped forward like a man, so that the staircase resounded. 

They stumbled on a little landing after twenty steps, and wastedabout a minute knocking on what felt like the panels of a door; butthen Warrington peered into the gloom higher up and saw dim light. 

So they essayed a second flight of stairs, in single file as before, and presently--when they had climbed some ten steps and had turned tonegotiate ten more that ascended at an angle--a curtain moved alittle, and the dim light changed to a sudden shaft that nearlyblinded them. 

Then a heavy black curtain was drawn back on rings, and a hundredlights, reflected in a dozen mirrors, twinkled and flashed beforethem so that they could not tell which way to turn. Somewhere therewas a glassbead curtain, but there were so many mirrors that theycould not tell which was the curtain and which were its reflections. 

The curtains all parted, and from the midst of each there stepped alittle nutbrown maid, who seemed too lovely to be Indian. Even thenthey could not tell which was maid and which reflections until shespoke. 

"Will the sahibs give their names?" she asked in Hindustani; and hervoice suggested flutes. 

She smiled, and her teeth were whiter than a pipe-clayed sword-belt;there is nothing on earth whiter than her teeth were. 

"Colonel Kirby and Captain Warrington" said Kirby. 

"Will the sahibs state their business?"

"No!"

"Then whom do the sahibs seek to see?"

"Does a lady live here named Yasmini?"

"Surely, sahib. "

"I wish to talk with her. "

A dozen little maids seemed to step back through a dozen swayingcurtains, and a second later for the life of them they could neitherof them tell through which it was that the music came and the smellof musk and sandal-smoke. But she came back and beckoned to them, laughing over her shoulder and holding the middle curtain apart forthem to follow. 

So, one after the other, they followed her, Kirby--as became aseriously-minded colonel on the eve of war--feeling out of place andfoolish, but Warrington, possessed by such a feeling of curiosity ashe had never before tasted. 

The heat inside the room they entered was oppressive, in spite of agreat open window at which sat a dozen maids, and of the punkahsswinging overhead, so Kirby undid his cloak and walked revealed, asoldier in mess dress. 

"Look at innocence aware of itself!" whispered Warrington. 

"Shut up!" commanded Kirby, striding forward. 

A dozen--perhaps more--hillmen, of three or four different tribes, had sat back against one wall and looked suspicious when theyentered, but at sight of Kirby's military clothes they had lookedalarmed and moved as if a whip had been cracked not far away. TheNorthern adventurer does not care to be seen at his amusements, nordoes he love to be looked in on by men in uniform. 

But the little maid beckoned them on, still showing her teeth andtripping in front of them as if a gust of wind were blowing her. Hermotion was that of a dance reduced to a walk for the sake of decorum. 

Through another glass-bead curtain at the farther end of the longroom she led them to a second room, all hung about with silks andfurnished with deep-cushioned divans. There were mirrors in thisroom, too, so that Kirby laughed aloud to see how incongruous andcompletely out of place he and his adjutant locked. His gruff laughcame so suddenly that the maid nearly jumped out of her skin. 

"Will the sahibs be seated?" she asked almost in a whisper, as ifthey had half-frightened the life out of her, and then she ran out ofthe room so quickly that they were only aware of the jingling curtain. 

So they sat down, Kirby trying the cushions with his foot until hefound some firm enough to allow him to retain his dignity. Cavalrydress-trousers are not built to sprawl on cushions in; a man shouldsit reasonably upright or else stand. 

"I'll say this for myself, " he grunted, as he settled into place, "it's the first time in my life I was ever inside a native woman'spremises. "

Warrington did not commit himself to speech. 

They sat for five minutes looking about them, Warrington beginningto be bored, but Kirby honestly interested by the splendor of thehangings and the general atmosphere of Eastern luxury. It wasWarrington who grew uneasy first. 

"Feel as if any one was lookin' at you, sir?" he asked out of oneside of his mouth. And then Kirby noticed it, and felt his collarawkwardly. 

In all the world there is nothing so well calculated to sap a man'sprepossession as the feeling that he is secretly observed. There wasno sound, no movement, no sign of any one, and Warrington looked inthe mirrors keenly while he pretended to be interested in his littlemustache. Yet the sweat began to run down Colonel Kirby's temples, and he felt at his collar again to make sure that it stood upright. 

"Yes, " he said, "I do. I'm going to get up and walk about. "

He paced the length of the long room twice, turning quickly at eachend, but detecting no movement and no eyes. Then he sat down againbeside Warrington; but the feeling still persisted. 

Suddenly a low laugh startled them, a delicious laugh, full ofcamaraderie, that would have disarmed the suspicion of a wolf. Justas unexpectedly a curtain less than a yard away from Kirby moved, andshe stood before them--Yasmini. She could only be Yasmini. Besides, she had jasmine flowers worked into her hair. 

Like a pair of bull buffaloes startled from their sleep, the coloneland his adjutant shot to their feet and faced her, and to theircredit let it be recorded that they dropped their eyes, both of them. They felt like bounders. They hated themselves for breaking in onsuch loveliness. 

"Will the sahibs not be seated again?" she asked them in a velvetvoice; and, sweating in the neck, they each sat down. 

Now that the first feeling of impropriety had given way tocuriosity, neither had eyes for anything but her. Neither had everseen anything so beautiful, so fascinating, so impudently lovely. Shewas laughing at them; each knew it, yet neither felt resentful. 

"Well?" she asked in Hindustani, and arched her eyebrows questioning. 

And Colonel Kirby stammered because she had made him think of hismother, and the tender prelude to a curtain lecture. Yet this womanwas not old enough to have been his wife!

"I-I-I came to ask about a friend of mine--by name Risaldar--MajorRanjoor Singh. I understand you know him?"

She nodded, and Kirby fought with a desire to let his mind wander. The subtle hypnotism that the East knows how to stage and use wascreeping over him. She stood so close! She seemed so like the warmsoft spirit of all womanhood that only the measured rising andfalling of her bosom, under the gauzy drapery, made her seem humanand not a spirit. Subtly, ever so cunningly, she had contrived totouch a chord in Colonel Kirby's heart that he did not know lived anymore. Warrington was speechless; he could not have trusted himself tospeak. She had touched another chord in him. 

"He came here more than once, or so I've been given to understand, "said Kirby, and his own voice startled him, for it seemed harsh. "Heis said to have listened to a lecture here--I was told the lecturewas delivered by a German--and there was some sort of a fracasoutside in the street afterward. I'm told some of his squadron werenear, and they thrashed a man. Now, Ranjoor Singh is missing. "

"So?" said Yasmini, arching her whole lithe body into a setting forthe prettiest yawn that Kirby had ever seen. "So the Jat is missing!Yes, he came here, sahib. He was never invited, but he came. He sathere saying nothing until it suited him to sit where another man was;then he struck the other man--so, with the sole of his foot--andtook the man's place, and heard what he came to hear. Later, outsidein the street, he and his men set on the Afridi whom he had struckwith his foot and beat him. "

"I have heard a variation of that, " said Kirby. 

"Have you ever heard, sahib, that he who strikes the wearer of aNorthern knife is like to feel that knife? So Ranjoor Singh, the Jat, is missing?"

"Yes, " said Kirby, frowning, for he was not pleased to hear RanjoorSingh spoken of slightingly. A Jat may be a good enough man, andusually is, but a Sikh is a Jat who is better. 

"And if he is missing, what has that to do with me?" asked Yasmini. 

"I have heard--men say--"

"Yes?" she said, laughing, for it amused her almost more than anyother thing to see dignity disarmed. 

"Men say that you know most of what goes on in Delhi--"

"And--?" She was Impudence arrayed in gossamer. 

Colonel Kirby pulled himself together; after all, it was not forlong that anything less than an army corps could make him feelunequal to a situation. This woman was the loveliest thing he hadever seen, but. . . . 

"I've come to find out whether Ranjoor Singh's alive or dead, " hesaid sternly, "and, if he's alive, to take him away with me. "

She smiled as graciously as evening smiles on the seeded plains, andsank on to a divan with the grace it needs a life of dancing to bestow. 

"Sahib, " she said, with a suddenly assumed air of candidness, "theyhave told the truth. There is little that goes on in Delhi--in theworld--that I can not hear of if I will. The winds of the world flowin and out of these four walls. "

"Then where is Ranjoor Singh?" asked Colonel Kirby. 

She did not hesitate an instant. He was watching her amazing eyesthat surely would have betrayed her had she been at a moment's loss;they did not change nor darken for a second. 

"How much, does the sahib know already?" she asked calmly, as if shewished to spare him an unnecessary repetition of mere beginnings. 

"A trooper of D Squadron--that's Ranjoor Singh's squadron--wasmurdered in the bazaar this afternoon. The risaldar-major went to themorgue to identify the body--drove through the bazaar, and possiblydiscovered some clue to the murderer. At all events, he is known tohave entered a house in the bazaar, and that house is now in flames. "

"The sahib knows that much? And am I to quell the flames?" askedYasmini. 

She neither sat nor lay on the divan. She was curled on it, leaningon an elbow, like an imp from another world. 

"Who owns that house?" asked Kirby, since he could think of nothingelse to ask. 

"That is the House-of-the-Eight-Half--brothers, " said Yasmini. "Hewho built it had eight wives, and a son by each. That was ages ago, and the descendants of the eight half-brothers are all at law aboutthe ownership. There are many stories told about that house. "

Suddenly she broke into laughter, leaning on her hand and mockingthem as Puck mocked mortals. A man could not doubt her. Colonel andadjutant, both men who had seen grim service and both self-possessedas a rule, knew that she could read clean through them, and that fromthe bottom of her deep, wise soul she was amused. 

"I am from the North, " she said, "and the North is cold; there islittle mercy in the hills, and I was weaned amid them. Yet--would thesahib not better beg of me?"

"How d'ye mean?" asked Kirby, surprised into speaking English. 

"_Three days_ ago there came a wind that told _me_ of war--of a world-war, surely not this time stillborn. Two years ago thesame wind brought me news of its conception, though the talk of theworld was then of universal peace and of horror at a war that was. Now, to-night, this greatest war is loose, born and grown big withinthree days, but conceived two years ago--Russia, Germany, Austria, France are fighting--is it not so? Am I wrong?"

"I came to ask about Ranjoor Singh, " said Colonel Kirby, twisting athis closely cropped mustache. 

There was a hint of iron in his voice, and he was obviously not theman to threaten and not fulfil. But she laughed in his face. 

"All in good time!" she answered him. "You shall beg for yourRanjoor Singh, and then perhaps he shall step forth from the burninghouse! But first you shall know why you _must_ beg. "

She clapped her hands, and a maid appeared. She gave an order, andthe maid brought sherbet that Kirby sniffed suspiciously beforetasting. Again she laughed deliciously. 

"Does the sahib think that he could escape alive from this room didI will otherwise?" she asked. "Would I need to drug--I who have somany means?"

Now, it is a maxim of light cavalry that the best means of defenselies in attack; a threat of force should be met by a show of force, and force by something quicker. Kirby's eyes and his adjutant's met. Each felt for his hidden pistol. But she laughed at them with mirththat was so evidently unassumed that they blushed to their ears. 

"Look!" she said; and they looked. 

Two great gray cobras, male and female, swayed behind them less thana yard away, balanced for the strike, hoods raised. The awful, uglyblack eyes gleamed with malice. And a swaying cobra's head is not aneasy thing to hit with an automatic-pistol bullet, supposing, forwild imagination's sake, that the hooded devil does not strike first. 

"It is not wise to move!" purred Yasmini. 

They did not see her make any sign, though she must have made one, for their eyes were fixed on the swaying snakes, and their brainswere active with the problem of whether to try to shoot or not. Itseemed to them that the snakes reached a resolution first, andstruck. And in the same instant as each drew his pistol the hoodedmessengers of death were jerked out of sight by hands that snatchedat horsehair from behind the hangings. 

"I have many such!" smiled Yasmini, and they turned to meet her eyesagain, hoping she could not read the fear in theirs. "But that is notwhy the sahib shall beg of me. " Kirby was not too overcome to noticethe future tense. "That is only a reason why the sahibs should forgettheir Western manners. But--if the pistols please the sahibs--"

They stowed their pistols away again and sat as if the very cushionsmight be stuffed with snakes, both of them aware that she hadproduced a mental effect which was more to her advantage than thepistols would have been had they made her a present of them. She gavea sudden shrill cry that startled them and made them look wildly forthe door; but she had done no more than command a punkah-wallah, andthe heavy-beamed punkah began to swing rhythmically overhead, adding, if that were possible, to the mesmeric spell. 

"Now, " she said, "I will tell a little of the why of things. " AndColonel Kirby hoped it was the punkah, and not funk, that made thesweat stream down his neck until his collar was a mere uncomfortablemess. "For more than a year there has been much talk in India. Thewinds have brought it all to me. There was talk--and the governmenthas known it, for I am one of those who told the government--of aripe time for a blow for independence. 

"There have been agents of another Power, pretending to bemerchants, who have sown their seed carefully in the bazaars. Andthen there went natives in the pay of the merchants who had word withnative sowars, saying that it is not well to be carried over sea tofight another's quarrels. All this the government knew, though, ofcourse, thou art not the government, but only a soldier with a readypistol and a dull wit. "

"What bearing has this on Ranjoor Singh?" asked Kirby. It was solong since he had been spoken to so bluntly that he could not sitstill under it. 

"I am explaining why the colonel sahib shall beg for his RanjoorSingh, " she smiled. "Does the fire burn yet, I wonder?"

She struck a gong, and a maid appeared in the door like an instantecho. 

"Does the fire still burn?" she asked. 

The maid disappeared, and was gone five minutes, during which Kirbyand Warrington sat in silent wonder. They wondered chiefly what theregiment would say if it knew--and whether the regiment would everknow. Then the maid came back. 

"It burns, " she said. "I can see flame from the roof, though not somuch flame. "

"So, " said Yasmini. "Listen, sahibs. "

It is doubtful if a trumpet could have summoned them away, for shehad them bound in her spells, and each in a different spell, as herway is. She had little need to order them to listen. 

"The talk in the bazaars did little harm, for the fat _bunnias_know well whose rule has given them their pickings. They talk for thelove of words, but they trade for the love of money, and thegovernment protects their money. Nay, it was not the _bunnias_who mattered. 

"But there came a day when the rings of talk had reached the hills, and hillmen came to Delhi to hear more, as they ever have come sinceIndia was India. And it was clear then to the government that proofof disloyalty among the native regiments would set the hillmenscreaming for a holy war-for the hills are cold, sahibs, and thehillmen have cold hearts and are quick to take advantage, even as Iam, of others' embarrassment. Hillmen have no mercy, Colonel sahib. Iwas weaned amid the hills. "

It seemed to Kirby and Warrington both--for not all their wits werestupefied--that she was sparring for time. And then Warrington saw aface reflected in one of the mirrors and nudged Kirby, and Kirby sawit too. They both saw that she was watching it. It was a fat face, and it looked terrified, but the lips did not move and only the eyeshad expression. In a moment a curtain seemed to be drawn in front ofit, and Yasmini took up her tale. 

"And then, sahibs, as I have told already, there came a wind thatwhistled about war; and it pleased the government to know which, ifany, of the native regiments had been affected by the talk. So acloser watch was set, then a net was drawn, and Ranjoor Singh raninto the net. "

"An antelope might blunder into a net set for a tiger, " said Kirby. "I am here to cut him out again. "

Yasmini laughed. 

"With pistols to shoot the cobras and sweat to put out flame? Nay, what is there to cut but the dark that closes up again? Sahib, thoushalt _beg_ for Ranjoor Singh, who struck a hillman in my house, he was so eager to hear treason!"

"Ranjoor Singh's honor and mine are one!" said Colonel Kirby, usinga native phrase that admits of no double meaning, and for a secondYasmini stared at him in doubt. 

She had heard that phrase used often to express native regard for anative, or for an Englishman, but never before by an Englishman for anative. 

"Then beg for him!" she grinned mischievously. "Aye, I know thetale! It is the eve of war, and he commands a squadron, and there isneed of him. Is it not so? Yet the house that he entered burns. Andthe hillman's knife is long and keen, sahib! Beg for him!"

Kirby had risen to his feet, and Warrington followed suit. Kirby'sself-possession was returning and she must have known it; perhaps sheeven intended that it should. But she lay curled on the divan, laughing up at him, and perfectly unimpressed by his recovered dignity. 

"If he's alive, and you know where he is, " said Kirby, "I will payyou your price. Name it!"

"Beg for him! There is no other price. The House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers burns! Beg for him!"

Now, the colonel of a regiment of light cavalry is so little givento beg for things that the word beg has almost lapsed out of hisvocabulary from desuetude. 

"I beg you to tell me where he is, " he said stiffly, and she clappedher hands and laughed with such delight that he blushed to his earsagain. 

"I have had a prince on his knees to me, and many a priest, " shechuckled, "aye, and many a soldier--but never yet a British colonelsahib. Kneel and beg!"

"Why--what--what d'ye mean?" demanded Kirby. 

"Is his honor not your honor? I have heard it said. Then beg, Colonel sahib, on your knees--on those stiff British knees--beg forthe honor of Ranjoor Singh!"

"D'you mean--d'you mean--?"

"Beg for his honor, and beg for his life, on your knees, Colonelsahib!"

"I could look the other way, sir, " whispered Warrington, for theregiment's need was very real. 

"Nay, both of you! Ye shall both beg!" said Yasmini, "or RanjoorSingh shall taste a hillman's mercy. He shall die so dishonored thatthe regiment shall hang its head in shame. "

"Impossible!" said Kirby. "His honor is as good as mine!'

"Then beg for his and thine--on your knees, Colonel sahib!"

Then it seemed to Colonel Kirby that the room began to swim, forwhat with the heat and what with an unconquerable dread of snakes, hewas not in shape to play his will against this woman's. 

"What if I kneel?" he asked. 

"I will promise you Ranjoor Singh, alive and clean!"

"When?"

"In time!"

"In time for what?"

"Against the regiment's need!"

"No use. I want him at once!" said Colonel Kirby. 

"Then go, sahib! Put out the fire with the sweat that streams fromthee! Nay, go, both of you--ye have my leave to go! And what is aSikh risaldar more or less? Nay, go, and let the Jat die!"

It is not to be written lightly that the British colonel of Outram'sOwn and his adjutant both knelt to a native woman--if she is a native--ina top back-room of a Delhi bazaar. But it has to be recorded thatfor the sake of Ranjoor Singh they did. 

They knelt and placed their foreheads where she bade them, againstthe divan at her feet, and she poured enough musk in their hair, forthe love of mischief, to remind them of what they had done until inthe course of slowly moving nature the smell should die away. Andthen in a second the lights went out, each blown by a fan from behindthe silken hangings. 

They heard her silvery laugh, and they heard her spring to thefloor. In cold, creeping sweat they listened to footsteps, and alittle voice whispered in Hindustani:

"This way, sahibs!"

They followed, since there was nothing else to do and their pridewas all gone, to be pushed and pulled by unseen hands and chucklinggirls down stairs that were cut out of sheer blackness. And at thefoot of the dark a voice that Warrington recognized shed new interestbut no light on the mystery. 

"Salaam, sahibs, " said a fat babu, backing through a door in frontof them and showing himself silhouetted against the lesser outerdarkness. "Seeing regimental risaldar on the box seat, I tookliberty. The risaldar-major is sending this by as yet unrewardedmessenger, and word to the effect that back way out of burning housewas easier than front way in. He sends salaam. I am unrewardedmessenger. "

He slipped something into Colonel Kirby's hands, and Kirby struck amatch to examine it. It was Ranjoor Singh's ring that had theregimental crest engraved on it. 

"Not yet rewarded!" said the babu. 

 Let the strong take the wall of the weak, (And there's plenty of room in the dust!) Let the bully be brave, but the meek No more in the way than he must. Be crimson and ermine and gold, Good lying and living and mirth, (Oh, laugh and be fat!) the reward of the bold, But--(sotto voce)--the meek shall inherit the earth!

CHAPTER VII

"That's the man whose face was in the mirror!" said Warringtonsuddenly, reaching out to seize the babu's collar. "He's the man whowanted to be regimental clerk! He's the man who was offering to eat aGerman a day!. . . No--stand still, and I won't hurt you!"

"Bring him out into the fresh air!" ordered Kirby. 

The illimitable sky did not seem big enough just then; four wallscould not hold him. Kirby, colonel of light cavalry, and consideredby many the soundest man in his profession, was in revolt againsthimself; and his collar was a beastly mess. 

"Hurry out of this hole, for heaven's sake!" he exclaimed. 

So Warrington applied a little science to the babu, and thatgentleman went out through a narrow door backward at a speed and atan angle that were new to him--so new that he could not express hissensations in the form of speech. The door shut behind them with aslam, and when they looked for it they could see no more than a markin the wall about fifty yards from the bigger door by which they hadoriginally entered. 

"There's the carriage waiting, sir!" said Warrington, and with aglance toward it to reassure himself, Kirby opened his mouth wide andfilled his lungs three times with the fresh, rain-sweetened air. 

There were splashes of rain falling, and he stood with bared head, face upward, as if the rain would wash Yasmini's musk from him. Itwas nearly pitch-dark, but Warrington could just see that therisaldar on the box seat raised his whip to them in token ofrecognition. 

"Now then! Speak, my friend! What were you doing in there?" demandedWarrington. 

"No, not here!" said Kirby. "We might be recognized. Bring him intothe shay. "

The babu uttered no complaint, but allowed himself to be pushedalong at a trot ahead of the adjutant, and bundled head-foremostthrough the carriage door. 

"Drive slowly!" ordered Kirby, clambering in last; and the risaldarsent the horses forward at a steady trot. 

"Now!" said Warrington. 

"H-r-r-ump!" said Kirby. 

"My God, gentlemen!" said the babu. "Sahibs, I am innocent of allcomplicitee in this or any other eventualitee. I am married man, having family responsibilitee and other handicaps. Therefore--"

"Where did you get this ring?" demanded Kirby. 

"That? Oh, that!" said the babu. "That is veree simplee told. Thatis simple little matter. There is nothing untoward in thatconnection. Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh, who is legal owner of ring, same being his property, gave it into my hand. "

"When?"

Both men demanded to know that in one voice. 

"Sahibs, having no means of telling time, how can I guess?"

"How long ago? About how long ago?"

"Being elderly person of advancing years and much, adipose tissue, Iam not able to observe more than one thing at a time. And yet manythings have been forced on my attention. I do not know how long ago. "

"Since I saw you outside the barrack gate?" demanded Warrington. 

"Oh, yes. Oh, certainly. By all means!"

"Less than two hours ago, then, sir!" said Warrington, looking athis watch. 

"Then he isn't burned to death!" said Kirby, with more satisfactionthan he had expressed all the evening. 

"Oh, no, sir! Positivelee not, sahib! The risaldar-major is allvitalitee!"

"Where did he give you the ring?"

"Into the palm of my hand, sahib. "

"Where--in what place--in what street--at whose house?"

"At nobody's house, sahib. It was in the dark, and the dark is verybig. "

"Did he give it you at Yasmini's?"

"Oh, no, sahib! Positivelee not!"

"Where is he now?"

"Sahib, how should I know, who am but elderly person of nometaphysical attainments, only failed B. A. ?"

"What did he say when he gave it to you?"

"Sahib, he threatened me!"

"Confound you, what did he say?"

"He said, '_Babuji_, present this ring to Colonel Kirby sahib. You will find him, _babuji_, where you will find him, but in anycase you will lose no time at all in finding him. When you have giventhe ring to him he will ask you questions, and you will say RanjoorSingh said, "All will presently be made clear"; and should you forgetthe message, _babuji_, or should you fail to find him soon, there are those who will make it their urgent business, _babuji_, to open that belly of thine and see what is in it!'So, my God, gentlemen! I am veree timid man! I have given the ringand the message, but how will they know that I have given it? I didnot think of that! Moreover, I am unrewarded--I have no emolument--asyet!"

"How will _who_ know?" demanded Warrington. 

"They, sahib. "

"Who are they?" asked Kirby. 

"The men who will investigate the inside of my belly, sahib. Oh, abelly is so sensitive! I am afraid!"

"Did he tell you who 'they' were?"

"No, sahib. Had he done so, I would at once have sought policeprotection. Not knowing names of individuals, what was use of goingto police, who would laugh at me? I went to Yasmini, who understandsall things. She laughed, too; but she told me where is Colonel Kirbysahib. "

Colonel Kirby became possessed of a bright idea, his first sinceYasmini had thrown her spell over him. 

"Could you find the way, " he asked, "from here to wherever it wasthat Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh gave you that ring?"

The babu thrust his head out of the carriage window and gazed intothe dark for several minutes. 

"Conceivablee yes, sahib. "

"Then tell the driver where to turn!"

"I could direct with more discernment from box-seat, " said the babu, with a hand on the door. 

"No, you don't!" commanded Warrington. 

"Let go that handle! What I want to know is why were you so afraidat Yasmini's?"

"I, sahib?"

"Yes, you! I saw your face in a mirror, and you were scared nearlyto death. Of what?"

"Who is not afraid of Yasmini? Were the sahibs not also afraid?"

"Of what besides Yasmini were you afraid? Of what in particular?"

"Of her cobras, sahib!"

"What of them?" demanded Warrington, with a reminiscent shudder. 

"Certain of her women showed them to me. "

"Why?"

"To further convince me, sahib, had that been necessary. Oh, but Iwas already quite convinced. Bravery is not my _vade mecum!_"

"Confound the man! To convince you of what?"

"That if I tell too much one of those snakes will shortlee be mybedmate. Ah! To think of it causes me to perspirate with sweat. Sahibs, that is a--"

"You shall go to jail if you don't tell me what I want to know!"said Kirby. 

"Ah, sahib, I was jail clerk once--dismissed for minor offenses butcumulative in effect. Being familiar with inside of jail, am able tomake choice. "

"Get on the box-seat with him!" commanded Kirby. "Let him show thedriver where to turn. But watch him! Keep hold of him!"

So again the babu was propelled on an involuntary course, andWarrington proceeded to pinch certain of his fat parts to encouragehim to mount the box with greater speed; but his helplessness becameso obvious that Warrington turned friend and shoved him up at last, keeping hold of his loin-cloth when he wedged his own muscularanatomy into the small space left. 

"To the right, " said the babu, pointing. And the risaldar drove tothe right. 

"To the left, " said the babu, and Warrington made note of the factthat they were not so very far away from the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers. 

Soon the babu began to scratch his stomach. 

"What's the matter?" demanded Warrington. 

"They said they would cut my belly open, sahib! A belly is sosensitive!"

Warrington laughed sympathetically; for the fear was genuine andcandidly expressed. The babu continued scratching. 

"To the right, " he said after a while, and the risaldar drove to theright, toward where a Hindu temple cast deep shadows, and a row oftrees stood sentry in spasmodic moonlight. In front of the temple, seated on a mat, was a wandering fakir of the none-too-holy type. Byhis side was a flat covered basket. 

"Look, sahib!" said the babu; and Warrington looked. 

"My belly crawls!"

"What's the matter, man?"

"He is a fakir. There are snakes in that basket--cobras, sahib! Ow-ow-ow!"

Warrington, swaying precariously over the edge, held tight by theloin-cloth, depending on it as a yacht in a tideway would to threehundred pounds of iron. 

"Oh, cobras are so veree dreadful creatures!" wailed the babu, caressing his waist again. "Look, sahib! Look! Oh, look! Betweendevil and over-sea what should a man do? Ow!"

The carriage lurched at a mud-puddle. The babu's weight lurched withit, and Warrington's center of gravity shifted. The babu seemed toshrug himself away from the snakes, but the effect was to shoveWarrington the odd half-inch it needed to put him overside. He clungto the loin-cloth and pulled hard to haul himself back again, and theloin-cloth came away. 

"Halt!" yelled Warrington; and the risaldar reined in. 

But the horses took fright and plunged forward, though the risaldarswore afterward that the babu did nothing to them; he supposed itmust have been the fakir squatting in the shadows that scared them. 

And whatever it may have been--snakes or not--that had scared thebabu, it had scared all his helplessness away. Naked from shirt tosocks, he rolled like a big ball backward over the carriage top, fellto earth behind the carriage, bumped into Warrington, who wasstruggling to his feet, knocking him down again, and departed for thetemple shadows, screaming. The temple door slammed just as Warringtonstarted after him. 

By that time the risaldar had got the horses stopped, and ColonelKirby realized what had happened. 

"Come back, Warrington!" he ordered peremptorily. 

Warrington obeyed, but without enthusiasm. 

"I can run faster than that fat brute, sir!" he said. "And I saw himgo into the temple. We won't find Ranjoor Singh now in a month ofSundays!"

He was trying to wipe the mud from himself with the aid of the loin-cloth. 

"Anyhow, I've got the most important part of his costume, " he saidvindictively. "Gad, I'd like to get him on the run now through thepublic street!"

"Come along in!" commanded Kirby, opening the door. "There has beentrouble enough already without a charge of temple breaking. Tell therisaldar to drive back to quarters. I'm going to get this musk out ofmy hair before dawn!"

Warrington sniffed as he climbed in. The outer night had given himat least a standard by which to judge things. 

"I'd give something to listen to the first man who smells the insideof this shay!" he said cheerily. "D 'you suppose we can blame it onthe babu, sir?"

"We can try!" said Kirby. "Is that his loin-cloth you've got still?"

"Didn't propose to leave it in the road for him to come and find, sir! His present shame is about the only consolation prize we get outof the evening's sport. I wish it smelt of musk--but it doesn't; itsmells of babu--straight babu, undiluted. Hallo--what's this?"

He began to untwist a corner of the cloth, holding it up to get abetter view of it in the dim light that entered through the window. He produced a piece of paper that had to be untwisted, too. 

"Got a match, sir?"

Kirby struck one. 

"It's addressed to 'Colonel Kirby sahib!' Bet you it's from RanjoorSingh! Now--d'you suppose that heathen meant to hold on to that untilhe could get his price for it?"

"Dunno, " said Kirby with indifference, opening the note as fast astrembling fingers could unfold it. He would not have admitted tohimself what his fingers told so plainly--the extent of his regardfor Ranjoor Singh. 

The note was short, and Kirby read it aloud, since it was not markedprivate, and there was nothing in it that even the babu might nothave read:

"To Colonel Kirby sahib, from his obedient servant, Risaldar-MajorRanjoor Singh--Leave of absence being out of question afterdeclaration of war, will Colonel Kirby sahib please put in Order ofthe Day that Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh is assigned to specialduty, or words to same effect?"

"Is that all?" asked Warrington. 

"That's all, " said Kirby. 

"Suppose it's a forgery?"

"The ring rather proves it isn't, and I've another way of knowing. "

"Oh!"

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

They sat in silence in the swaying shay until the smell of musk andthe sense of being mystified became too much for Warrington, and hebegan to hum to himself. Humming brought about a return to his usualwide-awakefulness, and he began to notice things. 

"Shay rides like a gun, " he said suddenly. 

Kirby grunted. 

"All the weight's behind and--" He put his head out of the window toinvestigate, but Kirby ordered him to sit still. 

"Want to be recognized?" he demanded. "Keep your head inside, youyoung ass!"

So Warrington sat back against the cushions until the guard at thebarrack gate turned out to present arms to the risaldar's raisedwhip. As if he understood the requirements of the occasion withoutbeing told, the risaldar sent the horses up the drive at a hardgallop. It was rather more than half-way up the drive that Warringtonspoke again. 

"Feel that, sir?" he asked. 

"I ordered that place to be seen to yesterday!" growled Kirby. "Whywasn't it done?"

"It was, sir. "

"Why did we bump there, then?"

"Why aren't we running like a gun any longer?" wondered Warrington. "Felt to me as if we'd dropped a load. "

"Well, here we are, thank God! What do you mean to do?"

"Rounds, " said Warrington. 

"Very well. "

Kirby dived through his door, while Warrington went behind the shayto have a good look for causes. He could find none, although a blackleather apron, usually rolled up behind in order to be strapped overbaggage when required, was missing. 

"Didn't see who took that apron, did you?" he asked the risaldar;but the risaldar had not known that it was gone. 

"All right, then, and thank you!" said Warrington, walking off intothe darkness bareheaded, to help the smell evaporate from his hair;and the shay rumbled away to its appointed place, with the babu'sloin-cloth inside it on the front seat. 

It need surprise nobody that Colonel Kirby found time first to go tohis bathroom. His regiment was as ready for active service at anyminute as a fire-engine should be--in that particular, India's speedis as three to Prussia's one. The moment orders to march should come, he would parade it in full marching order and lead it away. But therewere no orders yet; he had merely had warning. 

So he sent for dog-soap and a brush, and proceeded to scour hishead. After twenty minutes of it, and ten changes of water, when hefelt that he dared face his own servant without blushing, he madethat wondering Sikh take turns at shampooing him until he couldendure the friction no longer. 

"What does my head smell of now?" he demanded. 

"Musk, sahib!"

"Not of dog-soap?"

"No, sahib!"

"Bring that carbolic disinfectant here!"

The servant obeyed, and Kirby mixed a lotion that would outsmellmost things. He laved his head in it generously, and washed it offsparingly. 

"Bring me brown paper?" he ordered then; and again the wide-eyedSikh obeyed. 

Kirby rolled the paper into torches, and giving the servant one, proceeded to fumigate the room and his own person until not even abloodhound could have tracked him back to Yasmini's, and the reek ofmusk had been temporarily, at least, subdued into quiescence. 

"Go and ask Major Brammle to come and see me, " said Kirby then. 

 * * * * *

Brammle came in sniffing, and Kirby cursed him through tight lipswith words that were no less fervent for lack of being heard. 

"Hallo! Burning love-letters? The whole mess is doin' the samething. Haven't had time to burn mine yet--was busy sorting thingsover when you called. Look here!"

He opened the front of his mess-jacket and produced a little lacehandkerchief, a glove and a powder-puff. 

"Smell 'em!" he said. "Patchouli! Shame to burn 'em, what? S'pose Imust, though. "

"Any thing happen while I was gone?" asked Kirby. 

"Yes. Most extraordinary thing. You know that a few hours ago DSquadron were all sitting about in groups looking miserable? We setit down to their trooper being murdered and another man beingmissing. Well, just about the time you and Warrington drove off inthe mess shay, they all bucked up and began grinning! Wouldn't say aword. Just grinned, and became the perkiest squadron of the lot!

"Now they're all sleeping like two-year-olds. Reason? Not a word ofreason! I saw young Warrington just now on his way to their quarterswith a lantern, and if he can find any of 'em awake perhaps he canget the truth out of 'em, for they'll talk to him when they won't toanybody else. By the way, Warrington can't have come in with you, didhe?"

Kirby ignored the question. 

"Did you tell Warrington to go and ask them?" he demanded. 

"Yes. Passed him in the dark, but did not recognize him by thesmell. No--no! Got as near him as I could, and then leaned up againstthe scent to have a word with him! Musk! Never smelt anything like itin my life! Talk about girls! He must be in love with half India, andnative at that! Brazen-faced young monkey! I asked him where he gotthe disinfectant, and he told me he fell into a mud-puddle!"

"Perhaps he did, " said Kirby. "Was there mud on him?"

"Couldn't see. Didn't dare get so near him! Don't you think he oughtto be spoken to? I mean, the eve of war's the eve of war and all thatkind of thing, but--"

"I wish you'd let me see the Orders of the Day, " Kirby interrupted. "I want to make an addition to them. "

"I'll send an orderly. "

"Wish you would. "

Five minutes later Kirby sat at his private desk, while Brammlepuffed at a cigar by the window. Kirby, after a lot of thinking, wrote:

"Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh (D Squadron) assigned to special duty. "

He handed the orders back to Brammle, and the major eyed theaddition with subdued amazement. 

"What'll D Squadron say?" he asked. 

"Remains to be seen" said Kirby. 

Outside in the muggy blackness that shuts down on India in therains, Warrington walked alone, swinging a lantern and chuckling tohimself as he reflected what D Squadron would be likely to invent asa reason for the smell that walked with him. For he meant to wake DSquadron and learn things. 

But all at once it occurred to him that he had left the babu's loin-clothon the inside front seat of the shay; and, because if that were seenit would have given excuse for a thousand tales too many and tooimaginative, he hurried in search of it, taking a short cut to whereby that time the shay should be. On his way, close to his destination, he stumbled over something soft that tripped him. He stooped, swungthe lantern forward, and picked up--the missing leather apron frombehind the shay. 

The footpath on which he stood was about a yard wide; the shay couldnot possibly have come along it. And it certainly had been behind theshay when they left barracks. Moreover, close examination proved itto be the identical apron beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

Warrington began to hum to himself. And then he ceased from humming. Then he set the lantern down and stepped away from it sidewise untilits light no longer shone on him. He listened, as a dog does, withintelligence and skill. Then, suddenly, he sprang and lit on a bulkymass that yielded--gasped--spluttered--did anything but yell. 

"So you rode on the luggage-rack behind the carriage, did you, _babuji?_" he smiled. "And curled under the apron to look likeluggage when we passed the guard, eh?"

"But, my God, sahib!" said a plaintive voice. "Should I walk throughDelhi naked? You, who wear pants, you laugh at me, but I assure you, sahib--"

"Hush!" ordered Warrington; and the babu seemed very glad to hush. 

"There was a note in a corner of that cloth of yours!"

"And the sahib found it? Oh, then I am relieved. I am preserved frompangs of mutual regret!"

"Why didn't you give that note to Colonel Kirby sahib when you hadthe chance? Eh?" asked Warrington, keeping firm hold of him. 

"Sahib! Your honor! Not being yet remunerated on account of ring andverbal message duly delivered, commercial precedent was all on myside that I should retain further article of value pendingsettlement. Now, I ask you--"

"Where was Ranjoor Singh when he gave you that ring and message?"demanded Warrington sternly, increasing his grip on the babu's fat arm. 

"Sahib, when I have received payment for first service rendered, mydisposition may be changed. I am as yet in condition of _formapauperis. _"

Still holding him tight, Warrington produced twenty rupees in papermoney. 

"Can you see those, _babuji_? See them? Then earn them!"

"Oh, my God, sahib, I have positivelee earned a lakh of rupees thisnight already!"

"Where was Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh when he--"

Footsteps were approaching--undoubtedly a guard on his way toinvestigate. The babu seemed to sense Warrington's impatience. 

"Sahib" he said, "I am very meek person, having family of wife andchildren all dependent. Is that rupees twenty? I would graciouslyaccept same, and positivelee hold my tongue!"

The steps came nearer. 

"I was on my way to D Squadron quarters, sahib, to narrate story andpass begging bowl. Total price of story rupees twenty. Or else thesahib may deliver me to guard, and guard shall be regaled free gratiswith full account of evening's amusement? Yes?"

The steps came nearer yet. Recognizing an officer, the men halted afew paces away. 

"Sahib, for sum of rupees twenty I could hold tongue for twentyyears, unless in meantime deceased, in which case--"

"Take 'em!" ordered Warrington; and the babu's fingers shut tight onthe money. 

"Guard!" ordered Warrington. "Put this babu out into the street!"

"Good night, sahib!" said the babu. "Kindlee present my seriousrespects to the colonel sahib. Salaam, sahib!"

But Warrington had gone into the darkness. 

 The Four Winds come, the Four Winds go, (Ye wise o' the world, oh, listen ye!), Whispering, whistling what they know, Wise, since wandering made them so (Ye stay-at-homes, oh, listen ye!). Ever they seek and sift and pry-- Listening here, and hurrying by-- Restless, ceaseless--know ye why? (Then, wise o' the world, oh, listen ye!) The goal of the search of the hurrying wind Is the key to the maze of a woman's mind, (And there is no key! Oh, listen ye!)

YASMINI'S SONG. 

CHAPTER VIII

So in a darkness that grew blacker every minute, Warrington swunghis lantern and found his way toward D Squadron's quarters. He feltrather pleased with himself. From his own point of view he would haverather enjoyed to have a story anent himself and Yasmini go the roundof barracks--with modifications, of course, and the kneeling partleft out--but he realized that it would not do at all to have ColonelKirby's name involved in anything of the sort, and he ratherflattered himself on his tact in bribing the babu or beingblackmailed by him. 

"Got to admit that babu's quite a huntsman!" he told himself, beginning to hum. "One day, if the war doesn't account for me, I'llcome back and take a fall out of that babu. Hallo--what's that? Whoin thunder--who's waking up the horses at this unearthly hour? Sickhorse, I suppose. Why don't they get him out and let the others sleep?"

He began to hurry. A light in stables close to midnight was not tobe accounted for on any other supposition than an accident or seriousemergency, and if there were either it was his affair as adjutant toknow all the facts at once. 

"What's going on in there?" he shouted in a voice of authority whilehe was yet twenty yards away. 

But there was no answer. He could hear a horse plunge, but nothingmore. 

"Um-m-m! Horse cast himself!" he straightway decided. 

But there was no cast horse, as he was aware the moment he hadlooked down both long lines of sleepy brutes that whickered theirprotest against interrupted sleep. At the far end he could see thattwo men labored, and a big horse fiercely resented their unseasonableattentions to himself. He walked down the length of the stable, andpresently recognized Bagh, Ranjoor Singh's charger. 

"What are you grooming him for at this hour?" he demanded. 

"It is an order, sahib. "

"Whose order?"

"Ranjoor Singh sahib's order. "

"The deuce it is! When did the order come?"

"But now. "

"Who brought it?"

"A babu, with a leather apron. "

Warrington walked away ten paces in order to get command of himself, and pinch himself, and make quite sure he was awake. 

"A fat babu?" he asked, walking back again. 

"Very fat, " said one of the troopers, continuing to brush theresentful charger. 

"So he delivered his message first, and then went to hunt for hisloin-cloth!" mused Warrington. "And he had enough intuition, and gutsenough, to look for it first in the shay! I'm beginning to admirethat man!" Aloud he asked the trooper: "What was the wording of therisaldar-major sahib's message?"

"'Let Bagh be well groomed and held ready against allcontingencies!'" said the trooper. 

"Then take him outside!" ordered Warrington. "Groom him where youwon't disturb the other horses! How often have you got to be toldthat a horse needs sleep as much as a man? The squadron won't be fitto march a mile if you keep 'em awake all night! Lead him outquietly, now! Whoa, you brute! Now--take him out and keep him out--put him in the end stall in my stable when you've finished him--d'youhear?"

He flattered himself again. With all these mysterious messages andorders coming in from nowhere, he told himself it would be good toknow at all times where Ranjoor Singh's charger was, as well as aservice to Ranjoor Singh to stable the brute comfortably. He toldhimself that was a very smart move, and one for which Ranjoor Singhwould some day thank him, provided, of course, that--

"Provided what?" he wondered half aloud. "Seems to me as if RanjoorSingh has got himself into some kind of a scrape, and hopes to getout of it by the back-door route and no questions asked! Well, let'shope he gets out! Let's hope there'll be no court-martial nastiness!Let's hope--oh, damn just hoping! Ranjoor Singh's a better man than Iam. Here's believing in him! Here's to him, thick and thin! Forward--walk--march!"

He turned out the guard, and the particular troop sergeant with whomhe wished to speak not being on duty, he ordered him sent for. Tenminutes later the sergeant came, still yawning, from his cot. 

"Come over here, Arjan Singh, " he called, thinking fast andfuriously as he led the way. 

If he made one false move or aroused one suspicion in the man'smind, he was likely to learn less than nothing; but if he did notappear to know at least something, he would probably learn nothingeither. 

As he turned, at a distance from the guard-room light, to face thesergeant, though not to meet his eyes too keenly, the fact that wouldnot keep out of his brain was that the fat babu had been out in theroad, offering to eat Germans, a little while before he and thecolonel had started out that evening. And, according to what Brammlehad told him when they met near the colonel's quarters, it was veryshortly after that that the squadron came out of its gloom. 

"What was the first message that the babu brought this evening?" heasked, still being very careful not to look into the sergeant's eyes. He spoke as comrade to comrade--servant of the "Salt" to servant ofthe "Salt. "

"Which babu, sahib?" asked Arjan Singh, unblinking. 

Now, in all probability, this man--since he had been asleep--knewnothing about the message to groom Bagh. To have answered, "The babuwho spoke about the charger, " might have been a serious mistake. 

"Arjan Singh, look me in the eyes!" he ordered, and the Sikh obeyed. He was taller than Warrington, and looked down on him. 

"Are you a true friend of the risaldar-major?"

"May I die, sahib, if I am not!"

"And I? What of me? Am I his friend or his enemy?"

The sergeant hesitated. 

"Can I read men's hearts?" he asked. 

"Yes!" said Warrington. "And so can I. That is why I had you calledfrom your sleep. I sent for you to learn the truth. What was themessage given by the fat babu to one of the guard by the outer gatethis evening, and delivered by him or by some other man to D Squadron?"

"Sahib, it was not a written message. "

"Repeat it to me. "

"Sahib, it was verbal. I can not remember it. "

"Arjan Singh, you lie! Did I ever lie to you? Did I ever threatenyou and not carry out my threats--promise you and not keep mypromise? I am a soldier! Are you a cur?"

"God forbid, sahib! I--"

"Arjan Singh! Repeat that message to me word for word, please, notas a favor, nor as obeying an order, but as a friend of Ranjoor Singhto a friend of Ranjoor Singh!"

"The message was to the squadron, not to me, sahib. "

"Are you not of the squadron?"

"Make it an order, sahib!"

"Certainly not--nor a favor either!"

"Sahib, I--"

"Nor will I threaten you! I guarantee you absolute immunity if yourefuse to repeat it. My word on it! I am Ranjoor Singh's friend, andI ask of his friend!"

"The babu said: 'Says Ranjoor Singh, "Let the squadron be on itsbest behavior! Let the squadron know that surely before the bloodruns he will be there to lead it, wherever it is! Meanwhile, let thesquadron be worthy of its salt and of its officers!"'"

"Was that all?" asked Warrington. 

"All, sahib. May my tongue rot if I lie!"

"Thank you, Arjan Singh. That's all. You needn't mention ourconversation. Good night. "

"Fooled, " chuckled Warrington. "She's fooled us to the limit of ourspecial bent, and I take it that's stiff-neckedness!"

He hurried away toward Colonel Kirby's quarters, swinging hislantern and humming to himself. 

"And this isn't the Arabian Nights!" he told himself. "It's Delhi--Twentieth Century A. D. ! Gad! Wouldn't the whole confounded army rockwith laughter!"

Then he stopped chuckling, to hurry faster, for a giant horn hadrooted chunks out of the blackness by the barrack gate, and now whatsounded like a racing car was tearing up the drive. The head-lightsdazzled him, but he ran and reached the colonel's porch breathless. He was admitted at once, and found the colonel and Brammle together, facing an aide-de-camp. In the colonel's hand was a medium-sized, sealed envelope. 

"Shall I repeat it, sir?" asked the aide-de-camp. 

"Yes, if you think it necessary" answered Kirby. 

"The sealed orders are not to be opened until out at sea. You areexpected to parade at dawn the day after to-morrow, and there will besomebody from headquarters to act as guide for the occasion. In fact, you will be guided at each point until it is time to open yourorders. No explanations will be given about anything until later on. That's all. Good night, sir--and good luck!"

The aide-de-camp held out his hand, and Colonel Kirby shook it atrifle perfunctorily; he was not much given to display of sentiment. The aide-de-camp saluted, and a minute later the giant car spurnedthe gravel out from under its rear wheels as it started off to warnanother regiment. 

"So we've got our route!" said Kirby. 

"And, thank God, we take our own horses!" said Brammle fervently. 

"Bet you a thousand the other end's Marseilles!" said Warrington. "We're in luck. They'd have mounted us on bus-horses if we hadn'tbrought our own; we'd have had to ring a bell to start and stop asquadron. Who wouldn't be light cavalry?"

Kirby put the sealed letter in an inside pocket. 

"I'm going to sleep, " said Brammle, yawning. "Night, sir!"

"Night!" said Kirby; but Warrington stayed on. He went and stoodnear the window, and when Kirby had seen Brammle to the door, hejoined him there. 

"What now, Warrington?"

"Caught 'em grooming Ranjoor Singh's charger in the dark!"

"Why?"

"Said it was an order from Ranjoor Singh!"

"I'm getting tired of this. I don't know what to make of it. "

"That isn't nearly the worst, sir. Listen to this! Long beforeYasmini promised us--before we knelt to save his life and honor--Ranjoor Singh had sent a message to his squadron guaranteein' to bewith 'em before the blood runs! Specific guarantee, and no conditions!"

"Then--"

"Exactly, sir!"

"She fooled us, eh?"

"D'you suppose she's for or against the government, sir?"

"I don't know. Thank God we've got our marching orders! Go and washyour head! And, Warrington--hold your tongue!"

Warrington held up his right hand. 

"So help me, sir!" he grinned, "But will she hold hers?"

 Westward, into the hungry West, (Oh, listen, wise men, listen ye!) Whirls the East Wind on his quest, Whimpering, worrying, hurrying, lest The light o'ertake him. Listen ye! Mark ye the burden of his sigh: "Westward sinks the sun to die! Westward wing the vultures!"--Aye, (Listen, wise men, listen ye!) The East must lose--the West must gain, For none come back to the East again, Though widows call them! Listen ye!

YASMINI'S SONG. 

CHAPTER IX

Now, India is unlike every other country in the world in allparticulars, and Delhi is in some respects the very heart throughwhich India's unusualness flows. Delhi has five railway stations withwhich to cope with latter-day floods of paradoxical necessity; andnobody knew from which railway station troops might be expected toentrain or whither, although Delhi knew that there was war. 

There did not seem to be anything very much out of the ordinary atany of the stations. In India one or two sidings are nearly alwaysfull of empty trains; there did not seem to be more of them than usual. 

At the British barracks there was more or less commotion, becauseThomas Atkins likes to voice his joy when the long peace breaks atlast and he may justify himself; but in the native lines, wheredignity is differently understood, the only men who really seemedunusually busy were the farriers, and the armourers who sharpenedswords. 

The government offices appeared to be undisturbed, and certainly nomore messengers ran about than usual, the only difference was thatone or two of them were open at a very early hour. But even in them--and Englishmen were busy in them--there seemed no excitement. Delhihad found time in a night to catch her breath and continue listening;for, unlike most big cities that brag with or without good reason, Delhi is listening nearly all the time. 

A man was listening in the dingiest of all the offices on the groundfloor of a big building on the side away from the street--a man in adrab silk suit, who twisted a leather watch-guard around his thumband untwisted it incessantly. There was a telephone beside him, and afair-sized pile of telegraph forms, but beyond that not much to showwhat his particular business might be. He did not look aggressive, but he seemed nervous, for he jumped perceptibly when the telephone-bellrang; and being a government telephone, with no commercial aims, itdid not ring loud. 

"Yes, " he said, with the receiver at his ear. "Yes, yes. Who else?Oh, I forgot for the moment. Four, three, two, nine, two. Give yours!Very well, I'm listening. "

Whoever was speaking at the other end had a lot to say, and none ofit can have been expected, for the man in the drab silk suit twistedhis wrinkled face and worked his eyes in a hundred expressions thatbegan with displeasure and passed through different stages ofsurprise to acquiescence. 

"I want you to know, " he said, "that I got my information at firsthand. I got it from Yasmini herself, from three of the hill-men whowere present, and from the Afridi who was kicked and beaten. Allexcept the Afridi, who wasn't there by that time, agreed that RanjoorSingh had words with the German afterward. Eh? What's that?"

He listened again for about five minutes, and then hung up thereceiver with an expression of mixed irritation and amusement. 

"Caught me hopping on the wrong leg this time!" he muttered, beginning to twist at his watch-guard again. 

Presently he sat up and looked bored, for he heard the fast trot ofa big, long-striding horse. A minute later a high dogcart drew up inthe street, and he heard a man's long--striding footsteps cominground the corner. 

"Like horse, like man, like regiment!" he muttered. "Pick his strideor his horse's out of a hundred, and"--he pulled out his nickel watch--"he's ten minutes earlier than I expected him! Morning, ColonelKirby!" he said pleasantly, as Kirby strode in, helmet in hand. "Takea seat. "

He noticed Kirby's scalp was red and that he smelt more than faintlyof carbolic. 

"Morning!" said Kirby. 

"I'm wondering what's brought you, " said the man in drab. 

"I've come about Ranjoor Singh, " said Kirby; and the man in drabtried to look surprised. 

"What about him? Reconsidered yesterday's decision?"

"No, " said Kirby. "I've come to ask what news you have of him. " AndKirby's eye, that some men seemed to think so like a bird's, transfixed the man in drab, so that he squirmed as if he had beenimpaled. 

"You must understand, Colonel Kirby--in fact, I'm sure you dounderstand--that my business doesn't admit of confidences. Even if Iwanted to divulge information, I'm not allowed to. I stretched apoint yesterday when I confided in you my suspicions regardingRanjoor Singh, but that doesn't imply that I'm going to tell you allI know. I asked you what _you_ knew, you may remember. "

"I told you!" snapped Kirby. "Is Ranjoor Singh still under suspicion?"

That was a straight question of the true Kirby type that admitted ofno evasion, and the man in drab pulled his watch out, knocking it onthe desk absent-mindedly, as if it were an egg that he wished tocrack. He must either answer or not, it seemed, so he did neither. 

"Why do you ask?" he parried. 

"I've a right to know! Ranjoor Singh's my wing commander, and abetter officer or a more loyal gentleman doesn't exist. I want him! Iwant to know where he is! And if he's under a cloud, I want to knowwhy! Where is he?"

"I don't know where he is, " said the man in drab. "Is he--ah--absentwithout leave?"

"Certainly not!" said Kirby. "I've seen to that!"

"Then you've communicated with him?"

"No. "

"Then if his regiment were to march without him--"

"It won't if I can help it!" said Kirby. 

"And if you can't help it, Colonel Kirby?"

"In that case he has got what he asked for, and there can be nocharge against him until he shows up. "

"I understand you have your marching orders?"

"I have sealed orders!" snapped Kirby. 

"To be opened at sea?"

"To be opened when I see fit!"

"Oh!"

"Yes, " said Kirby. "I asked you is Ranjoor Singh still undersuspicion!"

"My good sir, I am not the arbiter of Ranjoor Singh's destiny! Howshould I know?"

"I intend to know!" vowed Kirby, rising. 

"I'm prepared to state that Ranjoor Singh is not in danger ofarrest. I don't see that you have right to ask more than that, Colonel Kirby. Martial law has been declared this morning, and thingsdon't take their ordinary course any longer, you know. "

Kirby paced once across the office floor, and once back again. Thenhe faced the man in drab as a duelist faces his antagonist. 

"I don't like to go over men's heads, " he said, "as you threatenedto do to me, for instance, yesterday. If you will give mesatisfactory assurance that Ranjoor Singh is being treated as a loyalofficer should be, I will ask no more. If not, I shall go now to thegeneral commanding. As you say, there's martial law now, he's the manto see. "

"Colonel Kirby, " said the man in drab, twisting at his watch-guardfuriously, "if you'll tell me what's in your sealed orders--open themand see--I'll tell you what I know about Ranjoor Singh, and we'llcall it a bargain!"

"I wasn't joking, " said Kirby, turning red as his scalp from theroots of his hair to his collar. 

"I'm in deadly earnest!" said the man in drab. 

So, without a word more, Colonel Kirby hurried out again, carryinghis saber in his left hand at an angle that was peculiar to him, andthat illustrated determination better than words could have done. 

His huge horse plunged away almost before he had gained the seat, and, saber and all, he gained the seat at a step-and-a-jump. But thesais was not up behind, and Kirby had scarcely settled down to drivebefore the man in drab had the telephone mouthpiece to his lips andhad given his mysterious number again--4-3-2-9-2. 

"He's coming, sir!" he said curtly. 

Somebody at the other end apparently asked, "Who is coming?" for theman in drab answered:

"Kirby. "

 * * * * *

Five minutes later Kirby caught a general at breakfast, and wasreceived with courtesy and feigned surprise. 

"D'you happen to know anything about my risaldar-major, RanjoorSingh?" asked Kirby, after a hasty apology for bursting in. 

"Why?"

"He was under suspicion yesterday--I was told so. Next hedisappeared. Then I received a message from him asking me to assignhim to special duty; that was after I'd more than half believed himburned to death in a place called the 'House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers. ' He has sent some most extraordinary messages to hissquadron by the hand of a mysterious babu, but not a word ofexplanation of any kind. Can you tell me anything about him, sir?"

"Wasn't a trooper of yours murdered yesterday?" the general asked. 

"Yes, " said Kirby. 

"And another missing?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Did Ranjoor Singh go off to search for the missing man?"

"I was told so. "

"H-rrrr-ump! Well, I'm glad you came; you've saved me trouble! Didyou put Ranjoor Singh in Orders as assigned to special duty?"

"Yes. "

"What is the missing trooper's name?"

"Jagut Singh. "

"Well, please enter him in Orders, too. "

"Special service?"

"Special service, " said the general. "How about Ranjoor Singh'scharger?"

"I understand that he's been kept well groomed by Ranjoor Singh'sorders, and my adjutant tells me he has the horse in care in his ownstable. "

The general made a note. 

"Whose stable?" lie asked. 

"Warrington's. "

"Warrington, of Outram's Own, eh? Captain Warrington?"

The general wrote that down, while Kirby watched him bewildered. 

"Well now, Kirby, that'll be all right Have the horse left there, will you? I hope You've been able to dispose of your own horses toadvantage. Two chargers don't seem a large allowance for a commandingofficer of a cavalry regiment, but that's all you can take with you. You'll have to leave the rest behind. "

"Haven't given it a thought, sir! Too busy thinking about RanjoorSingh. Worried about him. "

"Shouldn't worry!" said the general. "Ranjoor Singh's all right. "

"That's the first assurance I've had of it, except by way of amysterious note, " said Kirby. 

"By all right, I mean that he isn't in disgrace. But now about yourhorses and private effects. You've done nothing about them?"

"I'll have time to attend to that this afternoon, sir. "

"Oh, no, you won't. That's why I'm glad you came! These"--he gavehim a sealed envelope--"are supplementary orders, to be opened whenyou get back to barracks. I want you out of the way by noon ifpossible. We'll send a man down this morning to take charge ofwhatever any of you want kept, and you'd better tell him to sell therest and pay the money to your bankers; he'll be a responsibleofficer. That's all. Good-by, Kirby, and good luck!"

The general held out his hand. 

"One more minute, sir, " said Kirby. "About Ranjoor Singh!"

"What about him?"

"Well, sir--what about him?"

"What have you heard?"

"That--I've heard a sort of promise that he'll be with his squadron, to lead it, before the blood runs. "

"Won't that be time enough?" asked the general, smiling. He waslooking at Kirby very closely. "Not sick, are you?" he asked. "No? Ithought your scalp looked rather redder than usual. "

Kirby flushed to the top of his collar instantly, and the generalpretended to arrange a sheaf of papers on the table. 

"One reason why you're being sent first, my boy, " said the general, holding out his hand again, "is that you and your regiment arefittest to be sent. But I've taken into consideration, too, that Idon't want you or your adjutant killed by a cobra in any event. And--_snf--snf_--the salt sea air gets rid of the smell of muskquicker than anything. Good-by, Kirby, my boy, and God bless you!"

"Good-by, sir!"

Kirby stammered the words, and almost ran down the steps to hiswaiting dog-cart. As all good men do, when undeserved ridicule orblame falls to their lot, he wondered what in the world he could havedone wrong. 

He had no blame for anybody, only a fierce resentment of injustice--an almost savage sense of shame that any one should know about theadventure of the night before, and a rising sense of joy in hissoldier's heart because he had orders in his pocket to be up anddoing. So, and only so, could he forget it all. 

He whipped up his horse and went down the general's drive at a pacethat made the British sentry at the gate grin from ear to ear withwhole-souled approval. He did not see a fat babu approach thegeneral's bungalow from the direction of the bazaar. The babusalaamed profoundly, but Kirby's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, and his thoughts were already deep in the future. He saw nothingexcept the road, until he took the last corner into barracks on onewheel, and drew up a minute later in front of the bachelor quartersthat had sheltered him for the past four years. 

 * * * * *

"Pack! Campaign kit! One trunk!" he ordered his servant. "Orderly!"

An orderly ran in from outside. 

"Tell Major Brammle and Captain Warrington to come to me!"

It took ten minutes to find Warrington, since every job was his, andnearly every responsibility, until his colonel should take charge ofa paraded, perfect regiment, and lead it away to its fate. He came atlast, however, and on the run, and Brammle with him. 

"Orders changed!" said Kirby. "March at noon! Man'll be here thismorning to take charge of officers' effects. Better have things readyfor him and full instructions. One trunk allowed each officer. Twochargers. "

"Destination, sir?" asked Brammle. 

"Not disclosed!"

"Where do we entrain?" asked Warrington. 

"We march out of Delhi. Entrain later, at a place appointed on theroad. "

Warrington began to hum to himself and to be utterly, consciouslyhappy. 

"Then I'll get a move on!" he said, starting to hurry out. "Everything's ready, but--"

"Wait a minute!" commanded Kirby; and Warrington remained in theroom after Brammle had left it. 

"You haven't said anything to anybody, of course, about thatincident last night?"

"No, sir. "

"Then _she_ has!"

Warrington whistled. 

"Are you sure she has?"

"Quite. I've just had proof of it!"

"Makes a fellow reverence the sex!" swore Warrington. 

"It'll be forgotten by the time we're back in India, " said Kirbysolemnly. "Remember to keep absolutely silent about it. The best wayto help others forget it is to forget it yourself. Not one word nowto anybody, even under provocation!"

"Not a word, sir!"

"All right. Go and attend to business!"

What "attending to business" meant nobody can guess who has not beenin at the breaking up of quarters at short notice. Everything wasready, as Warrington had boasted, but even an automobile may "stall"for a time in the hands of the best chauffeur, and a regimentcontains as many separate human equations as it has men in its ranks. 

The amount of personal possessions that had to be jettisoned, orleft to the tender mercies of a perfunctory agent, would have wrunggroans from any one but soldiers. The last minute details that seemedto be nobody's job, and that, therefore, all fell to Warringtonbecause somebody had to see to them, were beyond the imagination ofany but an adjutant, and not even Warrington's imagination provedquite equal to the task. 

"We're ready, sir!" he reported at last to Kirby. "We're paraded andwaiting. Brammle's inspected 'em, and I've done ditto. There are onlythirteen thousand details left undone that I can't think of, and notone of 'em's important enough to keep us waitin'!"

So Kirby rode out on parade and took the regiment's salute. Therewas nobody to see them off. There were not even women to wail by thebarrack gate, for they marched away at dinner-time and official lieshad been distributed where they would do most good. 

Englishman and Sikh alike rode untormented by the wails or wavingfarewells of their kindred; and there was only a civilian on a whitepony, somewhere along ahead, who seemed to know that they were morethan just parading. He led them toward the Ajmere Gate, and by thetime that the regiment's luggage came along in wagons, with thelittle rear-guard last of all, it was too late to run and warnpeople. Outram's Own had gone at high noon, and nobody the wiser!

There was no music as they marched and no talking. Only the jinglingbits and rattling hoofs proclaimed that India's best were riding on asudden summons to fight for the "Salt. " They marched in the directionleast expected of them, three-quarters of a day before theirscheduled time, and even "Guppy, " the mess bull-terrier, who ranunder the wagon with the officers' luggage, behaved as if all ends ofthe world were one to him. He waved his tail with dignity and trottedin content. 

Hard by the Ajmere Gate they halted, for some bullock carts hadclaimed their centuries-long prerogative of getting in the way. Whilethe bullocks, to much tail-twisting and objurgation, labored in themud in every direction but the right one, Colonel Kirby sat hischarger almost underneath the gate, waiting patiently. Then theadvance-guard clattered off and he led along. 

He never knew where it came from and he never tried to guess. Hecaught it instinctively, and kept it for the sake of chivalry, orperhaps because she had made him think for a moment of his mother. Atall events, the bunch of jasmine flowers that fell into his lap founda warm berth under his buttoned tunic, and he rode on through thegreat gate with a kinder thought for Yasmini than probably she wouldguess. 

With that resentment gone, he could ride now as suited him, with allhis thoughts ahead, and there lacked then only one thing to completehis pleasure--he missed Ranjoor Singh. 

It was not that the squadron would lack good leading. An Englishofficer had taken Ranjoor Singh's place. It was the man he missed--the decent loyal gentleman who had worked untiringly to sweat asquadron into shape to Kirby's liking and never once presumed, norhad taken offense at criticism--the man who had been good enough tounderstand the ethics of an alien colonel, and to translate them forthe benefit of his command. It is not easy for a Sikh to rise to therank of major and lead a squadron for the Raj. 

He counted Ranjoor Singh his friend, and he knew that Ranjoor Singhwould have given all the rest of his life to ride away now for onlyone encounter on a foreign battle-field. Nothing, nothing less thanthe word of Ranjoor Singh himself, would ever convince him of theman's disloyalty. And he would have felt better if he could haveshaken hands with Ranjoor Singh before going, since it seemed to bethe order of the day that the Sikh should stay behind. 

It did not seem quite the thing to be riding away to war with thebest native officer in all India somewhere in Delhi on "specialservice"--whatever that might be. 

He was given, as a rule, to smiling at any man who did his best. Onany other day he would have very likely exchanged a joke with thebullock-man who labored so unavailingly to get the road cleared in ahurry. But to-day, since his thoughts were of Ranjoor Singh, he paidthe man no attention; he had not even formed a mental picture of himby the time he passed the gate. 

It was Warrington, cantering up from behind a minute or so later, who changed the color of the earth and sky. 

"Did you recognize him, sir?"

"Whom?"

"Ranjoor Singh!"

"No! Where?"

"Not the bullock-man who blocked the road, but the man who ran outfrom behind the gate and straightened things out again. That man wasRanjoor Singh in mufti!"

"What makes you think so?"

"I recognized him. So did his squadron--look at them! They'reriding like new men!"

Kirby looked, and there was no doubt about D Squadron. 

"Is he there still?" he asked. 

"I can see a man standing there--see him? Fellow in white betweentwo bullock carts?"

Kirby pulled out to the roadside and let the regiment pass him. Thenhe cantered back. The man between the bullock carts had his backturned, and was gazing toward Delhi under his hand. 

"Ranjoor Singh!" said Kirby, reining suddenly. "Is that you?"

"Uh?" The man faced about. He was no more Ranjoor Singh than he wasColonel Kirby. 

"Where is the man who came from behind the gate to clear the road?"

The man pointed toward the gate. Inside, within the gloom of thegate itself, Kirby was certain he saw a Sikh who stood at the salute. He cantered to the gate, for he would have given a year's pay forword with Ranjoor Singh. But when he reached the gate the man was gone. 

"And he promised he'd be there to lead his squadron when the bloodruns, " wondered Kirby. 

 "Now a trap, " said the tiger, "is easy to spot, " (Oh, jungli, be seated and listen!) "Some tempt you with live bait, and others do not;" (Oh, jungli, be leery and listen!) "The easiest sort to detect have a door-- A box, with three walls and a roof and a floor-- That the veriest, hungriest cub should ignore. " (Oh, jungli, stop laughing and listen!) "This isn't a trap, as I'll show you, my friend. " But the tiger fell into it. That is the end. (Oh, jungli, be loving and listen!)

YASMINI'S SONG. 

CHAPTER X

Ranjoor Singh; on the trail of a murderer, shoved with his wholestrength against a little door of the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers. It yielded suddenly. He shot in headlong, and the doorslammed behind him. As he fell forward into pitch blackness he wasconscious of shooting bolts behind and of the squeaking of a beamswung into place. 

But, having served the Raj for more years than he wanted toremember, through three campaigns in the Himalayas, once against theMasudis, and once in China, he was in full possession of trainedsoldier senses. Darkness, he calculated instantly, was a shield tohim who can use it, and a danger only to the unwary; and there aregrades of wariness, just as there are grades of sloth. 

Two men who thought themselves so wide awake as to be beyond thereach of government, each threw a noosed rope, and caught each other. Ranjoor Singh could not see the ropes, but he could hear the stifledswearing and the ensuing struggle; and an ear is as good as an eye inthe dark. 

Something--he never knew what--warned him to duck and step forward. He felt the whistle of a club that missed him by so little as to makethe skin twitch on the back of his neck. 

His right leg shot sidewise, and he tripped a man. In another secondhe had the club, and there was no measurable interval of time thenbefore the darkness was a living miracle of blows that came fromeverywhere and missed nothing. 

Three men went down, and Ranjoor Singh was in command of a situationwhose wherefore and possibilities he could not guess until anelectric torch declared itself some twenty feet away, at more thantwice his height, and he stood vignetted in a circle of white light. 

"The sahib proves a gentle guest!" purred a voice he thought herecognized. It was a woman's. "Has the sahib a pistol with him?"

Ranjoor Singh, cursing his own neglect of soldierly precaution, sawfit not to answer. A human arm reached like a snake into the ring oflight. He struck at it with the club, and a groan announced that hehad struck hard enough. 

"Does the sahib think that the noise of a pistol would cause hisfriends to come? Is Ranjoor Singh ashamed? Speak, sahib! Is it wellto break into a house and be surly with the hostess?"

Ranjoor Singh stepped backward, and the ring of light followed him, until he stood pressed against the teak door and could feel the heavybeam that ran up and down it, locked firmly above and below. Heprodded over his head behind him with the club, trying to find whatheld the beam, and the ring of light lifted a foot or two, then fivefeet, until its center was on the center of the club's handle. 

A pistol cracked and flashed then, from behind the light, and theclub splintered. He dropped it, and the torch-light ceased, leavinghim dazed, but not so dazed that he did not hear a man sneak up andcarry the splintered club away. He followed after the man, for heknew now that he was in a narrow passage and no man could get by himto attack from behind. 

But again the torch-light sought him out. Half-way to the foot ofsteep stairs that he could dimly outline he halted, for advanceagainst hidden pistol-fire and dazzling light was futile. 

"Look!" said the same soft, woman's voice. "Look, sahib! See, Ranjoor Singh! the hooded death! See the hooded death behind you!"

It was not her command that made him look. He knew better than toturn his head at an unseen woman's bidding in the dark. But he heardthem hiss, and he turned to see four cobras come toward him, with thefront third of their bodies raised from the floor and their hoodsextended. He saw that a panel in the wooden wall had slid, and thelast snake's tail was yet inside the gap. There was no need of a manto slip between him and the door!

"There are more in the wall, Ranjoor Singh! Will they follow thee up-stairs? See, they come! Step swiftly, for the hooded death is swift!"

The light went out again, and his ears were all he had to warn himof the snakes' approach--ears and imagination. Swift as a welllaunched charge of light cavalry, he leaped for the stairs and tookthem four at a time. He reached the top one sooner than he knew it. The torch flashed in his eyes, and he saw a pistol-mouth just beyondarm-reach. 

"Stand, Ranjoor Singh!" said a voice that he felt sure herecognized. His eyes began to search beyond the light for glimpses ofdim outline. 

"Back, Ranjoor Singh! Back to the right--toward that door! In, through that door--so!"

He obeyed, since he knew now with whom he had to deal. There was nosense at all in taking liberties with Yasmini. He stepped into abare, dark, teak-walled room, and she followed him, and she hadscarcely closed the door at her back before another door opened atthe farther end, and two of her maids appeared, carrying candle-lamps. 

"What do you want with me?" demanded Ranjoor Singh. 

"Nay! Did I invite the sahib?"

"I came about a murderer who entered by that door through which Icame. "

"To pay him the reward, perhaps?" she asked impudently. 

"Is this thy house?" asked Ranjoor Singh. 

"This is the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers, sahib. "

"This is a hole where murderers hide! A man of mine was slain in thestreet below, and the murderer came in here. Where is he now?"

"He and the bigger fool who followed him, " said Yasmini, poisingherself like a nodding blossom and smiling like the promise of newlove, as she paused to be insolent and let the insolence sink home, "are at my mercy!"

Ranjoor Singh did not answer, but she could draw no amusement fromhis silence, for his eye was unafraid. 

"I am from the North, where the quality of mercy is thoughtweakness, " she smiled sweetly. 

"Who asks mercy? I was seen and heard to enter. There will be ahundred seeking me within an hour!"

"Sahib, within two hours there will be five thousand around thishouse, yet none will seek to enter! And they will find no murderer, though thou shalt see thy murderer. Come this way, sahib. "

A whiff of warm wind might have blown her, so swiftly, lissomely sheran toward the other door, laughing back at him across her shoulderand leaving a trail of aromatic scent. The two maids held theircandle-lanterns high, and, striding like a soldier, Ranjoor Singhfollowed Yasmini, not caring that the maids shut the heavy doorbehind him and bolted it. He argued to himself that he was as safe inone room as in another, and she as dangerous; also, that it made nodifference in which room he might be when the squadron or his colonelmissed him. 

"Look, Ranjoor Singh! Look through that hole!"

There was plenty of light in this room, for there was a lantern inevery corner. He could see that she was gazing through a hole in thewall at something that amused her, and she motioned to another holeeight feet away from it. He crossed a floor that was solid and age-old;no two planks of it were of even width or length, but none creaked. 

At her invitation he looked through the little square hole shepointed out. And then, for the first time, he confessed surprise. 

"Thou, Jagut Singh!" he exclaimed. 

He stepped back, blinked to reassure himself, and stepped to thehole again. Back to back, tied right hand to right, left hand toleft, so that their arms were crossed behind them, and lashed waistto waist, a trooper of D Squadron and the Afridi whom lie had kickedat Yasmini's sat on the floor facing opposite walls. Dumb misery wasstamped on the Sikh's face, the despair of evaporated savagery on theAfridi's. 

"Jagut Singh!" said the risaldar-major, louder this time; and thetrooper looked up, almost as if hope had been that instant born in him. 

"Jagut Singh!"

The trooper grinned. A white row of ivory showed between his blackbeard and mustache. He tried to look sidewise, but the rope that heldhim tight to the Afridi hurt his neck. 

"I knew it, sahib!" he shouted. "I knew that one would come for me!This hill wildcat has fought until the ropes cut both of us; but taketime, sahib! I can wait. Attend to the duty first. Only let him whocomes bring water with him, for this is a thirsty place!"

Ranjoor Singh looked sidewise. He could see that Yasmini wasabsorbed in contemplation of her prisoners. Her little lithe form waspressed tightly against the wall, less than two yards away. He couldguess, and he had heard a dozen times, that dancing had made herstronger than a panther and more swift. Yet he thought that if he hadher in his arms he could crush those light ribs until she would yieldand order her prisoner released. The trooper's confidence deservedimmediate, not postponed, reward. 

He watched for a minute. He could see that her bosom rose and fellregularly against the woodwork; she was all unconscious of herdanger, he was sure of it. He changed his position, and she neitherlooked nor moved. He changed it again, so that his weight was all onhis left foot; he was sure she had not noticed. Then he sprang. 

He sprang sidewise, as a horse does that sees a snake by theroadside, every nerve and sinew keyed to the tightest pitch--eye, earand instinct working together. And she, in the same second, turned tomeet him smiling, with outstretched arms, as if she would meet himhalf-way and hug him to her bosom, only she stepped a pace backward, instead of forward as she had seemed to intend. 

He landed where he had meant to, on the spot where she had stood. His left hand clutched at the wall, and a second too late he made awild grab at the hole she had peered through, trying to get hisfingers into it. What she had done he never knew, but the floor shehad stood on yielded, and he heard her laugh as he slipped throughthe opening like a tiger into a pit-trap, and fell downward intoblackness. 

With a last tremendous effort he caught at the floor and heldhimself suspended by his finger-ends. But she came and trod on them, and though her weight was light, malice made her skilful, and shehurt him until he had to set his teeth and drop. He would never havebelieved that those soft slipper-soles could have given so much pain. 

"Forget not thy trooper in his need!" she called, as he fell awaythrough the opening. And then the trap shut. 

To his surprise he did not fall very far, and though he landed on anelbow and a hip, he struck so softly that for a moment he believed hemust be mad, or dead, or dreaming. Then his fingers, numb fromYasmini's pressure, began to recognize the feel of gunny-bags, and ofcotton-wool, and of paper. Also, he smelled kerosene or somethingvery like it. 

"Forget not the water for thy trooper, Ranjoor Singh!"

He looked up to see Yasmini's face framed in the opening, and hethought there was more devilment expressed in it, for all herloveliness, than in her voice that never quite lost its hint oflaughter. He did not answer, and the trap-door closed again. 

He knelt and began to grope through the dark on hands and knees, butgave that up presently because the dust from old sacks and piles ofrubbish began to choke him. Then rats came to investigate him. Heheard several of them scamper close, and one bit his leg; so he madeready to fight for his life against the worst enemy a man may have, praying a little in the Sikh way, that does not reckon God to be faroff at any time. 

Suddenly the trap-door opened, and the rats scampered away from thelight and noise. 

"Thus is a soldier answered!" muttered Ranjoor Singh. 

"Is the risaldar-major sahib thirsty?" wondered Yasmini. 

He could hear her pouring water out of a brass ewer into a dish, andpouring it back again. The metal rang and the water splasheddeliriously, but he was not very thirsty yet; he had been thirstieron parade a hundred times. 

When her head and shoulders darkened the aperture, he did nottrouble this time to look at her. 

"Is it dark down there?" she asked him; but he did not answer. 

So she struck a match and lit a newspaper. In a moment a ball offire was floating downward to him, and it was then that the smell ofdust and kerosene entered his consciousness as pincers enter theflesh of men in torment. He stood up with hands upstretched to catchthe fire--caught it--bore it downward--and smothered it in gunny-bags. 

"Still dark?" she said, looking through the aperture once more. "Iwill send another one!"

So Ranjoor Singh found his tongue and cursed her with a force andcomprehensiveness that only Asia can command; he gave her tounderstand that the next fire she dropped on him should be allowed towork God's will and burn her--her, her rats, her cobras, and hercutthroats. Two honest Sikhs, he swore, would die well to such an end. 

"Drop thy fire and I will fan the flame!" he vowed, and she believedhim. 

"I will send my cobras down to keep the sahib company!" she mocked. 

But Ranjoor Singh proposed to take one danger at a time, and he wasquite sure that she wanted him alive, not dead, for otherwise hewould have been dead already. He held his tongue and listened whileshe splashed the water. 

"Thy trooper is very thirsty, sahib!"

She was on a warmer scent now, for that squadron of his and the menof his squadron were the one love of his warrior life. Some spirit ofmalice whispered her as much. 

"The trooper shall have water when Ranjoor Singh sahib has promisedon his Sikh honor. "

"Promised what?" His voice betrayed interest at last; it suggestedfuture possibilities instead of a grim present. 

"That he will do what is required of him!"

"Is that the price of a drink for Jagut Singh?"

"Aye! Will the sahib pay, or will he let the trooper parch?"

"Ask Jagut Singh! Go, ask him! Let it be as he answers!"

He could hear her hurry away, although she slammed the trap-doorshut. Evidently she was not satisfied to speak through the littlehole, and he suspected that she was showing the man water, perhapsgiving some to the Afridi for sweet suggestion's sake. She was backwithin five minutes, and by the way she opened the trap and grinnedat him he knew what her answer would be. 

"He begs that you promise! He begs, sahib! He says he is thytrooper, thy dog, thy menial, and very thirsty!"

"Bring some one who knows better how to lie!" said Ranjoor Singh. "I_know_ what his answer was! He said, 'Say to the risaldar-majorsahib that I have eaten salt, but I am not thirsty!' Go, tell him hisanswer was a good one, and that I know he said it! I know that man, as men know each other. Thou art a woman, and thy knowledge is butemptiness. Thou hast heard now twice what the answer is, once fromhim and once from me!"

"I will leave thee to the rats!" she said, slamming the trap-doortight. 

The rats came, and he began to grope about for a weapon to useagainst them. He caught one rat in his fingers, squeezed thesquealing brute to death and flung it away, and he heard a hundred ofits messmates race to devour the carcass. 

He began to see little active eyes around him in the blackness, thatwatched his every movement, and he kept moving since that seemed topuzzle them. Also he wondered, as a drowning man might wonder aboutthings, how long it would be before Colonel Kirby would send for himto ask about the murdered trooper. Something would happen then, hefelt quite sure. 

The rats by this time had grown very daring, and he had been bittenagain twice; he found time to wonder what lies Yasmini would tell toaccount for her share in things. He did not doubt she would lieherself out of it, but he wondered just how, along what unexpectedline. It began to seem to him that the colonel and his squadron werea very long time coming. 

"But they will come!" he assured himself. 

 * * * * *

He was nearer to the mark when he expected unexpectedness fromYasmini, for she did not disappoint him. A door opened at one end ofthe black dark cellar, and again the rats scampered for cover asYasmini herself stood framed in it, with a lantern above her head. She was alone, and he could not see that she had any weapon. 

"This way, sahib!" she called sweetly to him. 

Never--North, South, East or West, in olden days or modern--did asiren call half so seductively. Every move she ever made was poetryexpressed, but framed in a golden aura shed by the lamp, and swayingin the velvet blackness of the pit's mouth, she was, it seemed toRanjoor Singh, as no man had ever yet seen woman. 

"Come, sahib!" she called again; and he moved toward her. 

"Food and water wait! Thy trooper has drunk his fill. Come, sahib!"

She made no move at all to protect herself from him. She did notlead into the cavern beyond the door. She waited for him, leaningagainst the door-post and smiling as if she and he were old friendswho understood each other. 

"I but tried thee, Ranjoor Singh!" she smiled, looking up into hisface and holding the lantern closer to his eyes, as if she would readbehind them. "Thou art a soldier, and not a buffalo at all! I amsorry that I called thee buffalo. My heart goes out ever to a braveman, Ranjoor Singh!"

He was actually at her side, her clothes touched his, and he couldhave flung his arms around her. But it was the move next after thatwhich seemed obscure. He wondered what her reply would be; and, moving the lantern a little, she read the hesitation in his eyes--thewavering between desire for vengeance, a soldierly regard for sex, and mistrust of her apparent helplessness. And, being Yasmini, shedared him. 

"Like swords I have seen!" she laughed. "Two cutting edges and apoint! Not to be held save by the hilt, eh, Ranjoor Singh? Search mefor weapons first, and then use that dagger in thy hair--I am unarmed!"

"Lead on!" he commanded in a voice that grated harshly, for itneeded all his willpower to prevent his self-command from giving out. He knew that behind temptation of any kind there lie the iron teethof unexpected consequences. 

She let the lantern swing below her knees and leaned back to laughat him, until the cavern behind her echoed as if all the underworldhad seen and was amused. 

"I called thee a buffalo!" she panted. "Nay, I was very wrong! Ilaugh at my mistake! Come, Ranjoor Singh!"

With a swing of the lantern and a swerve of her lithe body, sheslipped out of his reach and danced down an age-old hewn-stonepassage, out of which doors seemed to lead at every six or sevenyards; only the doors were all made fast with iron bolts so huge thatit would take two men to manage them. 

He hurried after her. But the faster he followed the faster she ran, until it needed little imagination to conceive her a will-o'-the-wispand himself a crazy man. 

"Come!" she kept calling to him. "Come!"

And then she commenced to sing, as if dark passages beneath theDelhi streets were a fit setting for her skill and loveliness. Ranjoor Singh had never heard the song before. It was about a tigerwho boasted and fell into a trap. It made him more cautious than hemight have been, and when the darkness began to grow less opaque heslowed into a walk. Then he stood still, for he could not see her anylonger. 

It occurred to him to turn back. But that thought had not more thancrossed his mind when a noose was pulled tight around his legs and abig sheet, thrown out of the darkness, was wrapped and wrapped abouthim until he could neither shout nor move. He knew that they werewomen who managed the sheet, because he bit one's finger through itand she screamed. Then he heard Yasmini's voice close to his ear. 

"Thy colonel sahib and another are outside!" she whispered. "It isnot well to wait here, Ranjoor Singh!"

Next he felt a great rush of air, and after that the roar of flamewas so unmistakable--although he could feel no heat yet--that hewondered whether he was to be burned alive. 

"Is it well alight?" asked Yasmini. 

"Yes!" said a maid whose teeth chattered. 

"Good! Presently the fools will come and pour water enough to fillthis passage. Thus none may follow us! Come!"

Ranjoor Singh was gathered up and carried by frightened women--hecould feel them tremble. For a moment he felt the outer air, and hecaught the shout of a crowd that had seen flames. Then he was thrownface downward on the floor of some sort of carriage and driven away. 

He lost all sense of direction after a moment, though he did notforget to count, and by his rough reckoning he was driven through thestreets for about nine minutes at a fast trot. Then the carriagestopped, and he was carried out again, up almost endless stairs, across a floor that seemed yet more endless, and thrown into a corner. 

He heard a door slam shut, and almost at the same moment hisfingers, that had never once ceased working, tore a corner of thesheet loose. 

In another minute he was free. 

He threw the sheet from him and looked about, accustoming his eyesto darkness. Presently, not far from him, he made out the sheetedfigure of another man, who lay exactly as he had done and worked withtired fingers. He drew the dagger out of his hair and cut the manloose. 

"Jagut Singh!" he exclaimed. 

The trooper stood up and saluted. 

"Who brought thee here?"

"Women, sahib, in a carriage!"

"When?"

"Even now!"

"Where is that Afridi?"

"Dead, sahib!"

"How?"

"She brought us water in a brass vessel, saying it was by thyorders, sahib. She cut us loose and gave him water first. Then, whileshe gave me to drink the Afridi attacked her, and I slew him with myhands, tearing his throat out--thus! While the life yet fluttered inhim they threw a sheet over me--and here I am! Salaam, sahib!"

The trooper saluted again. 

"Who made thee prisoner in the first place?"

"Hillmen, sahib, at the orders of the Afridi who is now dead. Theymade ready to torture me, showing me the knives they would use. Butshe came, and they obeyed her, binding the Afridi fast to me. Afterthat I heard the sahib's voice, and then this happened. That is all, sahib. "

"Well!" said Ranjoor Singh. And for the third time his trooper sawfit to salute him. 

 Who shall be trusted to carry my trust? (Hither, and answer me, stranger!) Slow to give ground be he--swifter to thrust-- Instant, --yet wary o' danger! Hand without craftiness, eye without lust, Lip without flattery! Such an one must Prove yet his worthiness--yet earn my trust! (Closer, and answer me, stranger!) First let me lead him alone, and apart; There let me feel of his pulse and his heart! (Hither, and play with me, stranger!)

CHAPTER XI

Men say Yasmini does not sleep. Of course, that is absurd. None theless, it is certain she must do much of her plotting in the daytime, for by night, until after midnight, she is always the Yasmini whomthe Northern gentry know, at home to all comers in her wonderfulapartment. 

It is ever a mystery to them how she knows all that is going on inDelhi, and in India, and in the greater outer world, although theythemselves bring her information that no government could ever suckout of the silent hills. They know where she keeps her cobras--wherethe strong-box is, in which her jewels lie crowded--who run hererrands--and some of her past history, for not even a mongoose ismore inquisitive than a man born in the hills, and Yasmini has manymaids. But none--not even her favorite, most confidential maids--knowwhat is in the little room that she reaches down a private flight ofstairs that have a steel door at the top. 

She keeps the key to that steel door, and it has, besides, acombination lock that only she understands. 

Once a very clever hillman, who had been south for an education andhad learned skepticism in addition to the rule of three, undertook todiscover wires leading over roof-tops to that room; but he searchedfor a week and did not find them. When his search was over, and allhad done laughing at him, he was found one night with a knife-woundbetween his shoulder-blades, and, later still, Yasmini sang a songabout him. None searched for wires after that, and the consensus ofopinion still is that she makes magic in the room below-stairs. 

She sought that room the minute Ranjoor Singh was safely locked inwith his trooper, although her maids reported more than one Northerngentleman waiting impatiently in the larger of her two reception-rooms for official information of the war. Government bulletins areregarded as pure fiction always, unless confirmed by Yasmini. 

And, within five minutes of Ranjoor Singh's release of his trooperfrom the sheet, no less a personage than a general officer had thrownaside other business and had drawn on a cloak of secrecy that noteven his own secretary could penetrate. 

"Closed carriage!" he ordered; and, as though the fire brigade weredoing double duty, a carriage came, and the horses, rump-down, haltedfrom the gallop outside his door. 

"Pathan turban!" he ordered; and his servant brought him one. 

"Sheepskin cloak!"

In a moment the upper half of him would have passed in the dark forthat of a rather portly Northern trader. He decided that a rug woulddo the rest, and snatched one as he ran for the carriage with theturban under his arm. He gave no order to the driver other than"Cheloh!" and that means "Go ahead"; so the driver, who was a Sikh, went ahead as the guns go into action, asway and aswing, regardlessof everything but speed. 

"Yasmini's!" said the general, at the end of a hundred yards; andthe Sikh took a square, right-angle turn at full gallop with aneatness the Horse Artillery could not have bettered. There seemed tobe no need of further instructions, for the Sikh pulled up unbiddenat the private door that is to all appearance only a mark on thedirty-looking wall. 

With a rug around his middle, there shot out then what a watchingsmall boy described afterward as "a fat hill-rajah on his way to befleeced. " The carriage drove on, for coachmen who wait outsideYasmini's door are likely to be butts for questions. The door openedwithout any audible signal, and the man with the rug around hismiddle disappeared. 

He had ceased to bear any resemblance to any one but a stout Englishgeneral in mess-dress by the time he reached the dark stairhead; andYasmini took the precaution of being there alone to meet him. Sheheld, a candle-lantern. 

"Whom have you?" he demanded. 

They seemed to understand each other--these two. He paid her nocompliments, and she expected none; she made no attempt at all toflatter him or deceive him. But, being Yasmini, it did not lie in herto answer straightly. 

"I set a trap and a buffalo blundered into it! He will do betterthan any other!"

"Whom have you?"

"Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh!"

The general whistled softly. 

"Of the Sikh Light Cavalry?" he asked. 

"One of Kirby sahib's officers, and a trooper into the bargain!"

The general whistled again. 

"There were two troopers whom I meant to catch, " she said hurriedly, for it was evident that the general did not at all approve of theturn affairs had taken. "I had a trap for them at the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers, and some hillmen in there ready to rush out andseize them as they passed. But a fool Afridi murdered one, and I onlygot there in the nick of time to save the other's life. I meant thatRanjoor Singh, who is a buffalo, should be troubled about histroopers and suspected on his own account, for he and I have aprivate quarrel. I did not mean to catch him, or make use of him. Buthe walked into the trap. What shall be done with him? Let the sahibsay the word and----"

Her gesture was inimitable. Not so the gurgle that she gave, for aman's breath bubbling through the blood of a slit throat makes thesame shuddersome sound exactly. The general took no notice whateverof that, for wise men of the West understand the East's attempts toscandalize them. It is the everlasting amusement of Yasmini, and athousand others, to pretend that the English are even more bloodcareless than themselves, just as it is their practise to buildconfidently on the opposite fact. 

"Did _you_ fire the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers?" askedthe general suddenly. "Am I a sweeper?" she retorted. 

"Did you order it done?"

"Did Jumna rise when the rain came? There were six good cobras ofmine burned alive, to say nothing of the bones of a dead Afridi! Nay, sahib, I ordered a clear trail left from there to here, connecting meand thee and Ranjoor Singh to the Germans and a dog of an Afridimurderer. I left a trail that even the police could follow!"

"Whose property is that house?"

"Whose? Ask the lawyers! They have fought about it in the courtsuntil lawyers own every stick and stone of it, and now the lawyersfight one another! The government will spend a year now, " shelaughed, "seeking whom to fine for the fire. It will be good to seethe lawyers run to cover!"

"This is a bad business!" said the general sternly; and he used twowords in the native tongue that are thirty times more expressive ofbadness as applied to machinations than are the English for them. "The plan was to kidnap a trooper, or two troopers--to tempt him, orthem--and, should they prove incorruptible, to give them certain workto do. And what have you done?"

Yasmini laughed at him--merry, mocking laughter that stung himbecause it was so surely genuine. She did not need to tell him inwords that she was not afraid of him; she could laugh in his face andmake the truth sink deeper. 

"And now what will the _burra_ sahib do?" she mocked. "There iswar--a great war--a war of all the world--but Yasmini fired a rat-runand avenged a murdered Sikh. First let us punish Yasmini! Shall Isend for police to arrest me, _burra_ sahib? Or shall I send amaid in search of babu Sita Ram that the game may continue?"

"What do you want Sita Ram for?"

"Sita Ram is nearly always useful, sahib. He is on a message now. Heis a fool who likes to meddle where he _thinks_ none notice him. Such are the sort who cost least and work the longest hours. Who, forinstance, sahib, is to balk Kirby sahib when he grows suspicious andbegins to search in earnest for his Ranjoor Singh? He knew thatRanjoor Singh was at the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers; there wasa man on watch outside. He will come here next, for Ranjoor Singh hasbeen reported to him as having talked with Germans in my house. "

"Reported by whom?"

"By the Afridi who is now dead. "

"Who killed the Afridi?"

"Does the _burra_ sahib think I killed him?"

"I asked a question!" snapped the general. 

"In the first place, then, Ranjoor Singh, the buffalo, struck theAfridi with his foot. The Afridi, who was a dog with yellow teeth, went outside to sing sweet compliments to Ranjoor Singh. CertainSikhs heard him--of whom one was the trooper who waits in anotherroom with Ranjoor Singh--and they beat him nearly to death because, being buffaloes themselves, they love Ranjoor Singh, who is thegreatest buffalo of all. 

"For revenge, the Afridi told tales of Ranjoor Singh, and laterknifed one Sikh trooper who had beaten him. The other trooperfollowed him into the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers, where he soonhad opportunity for vengeance. Now the _burra_ sahib knows all. Is it not a sweet love-story! Now the _burra_ sahib may arresteverybody, and all will be well!"

"Where did Ranjoor Singh kick the Afridi?"

"Here--in my house!"

"Then he was here?"

"How else would he kick the man here? Could he send his foot bymessenger?"

"Was the German here? Did he have word with the German?"

"Surely. He spoke with him alone. So the Afridi reported him to the'Rat sahib. '"

The general frowned. However deeply the military may intrigue, theyneither like nor profess to like civilians who play the same game. 

"If Ranjoor Singh is under suspicion, what is the use of--"

"Oh, all men are alike!" jeered Yasmini, holding up the light andlooking more impudent than the general had ever seen her--and he hadseen her often, for most of his private information about the regionsnorth of the Himalayas had come through her in one way or another, and often enough from her lips direct. "I have said that RanjoorSingh is a buffalo! He was born a buffalo--he has been trained to beone by the British--he likes to be one--and he will die one, with aGerman bullet in his belly, unless this business prove too much forhim and he dies of fretting before he can get away to fight!

"I--look at me, sahib! I have tempted Ranjoor Singh, and he did notyield a hair! I stood closer to him than I am to you, and his pulsebeat no faster! All he thought of was whether he could crush me andmake me give up my prisoner. 

"Ranjoor Singh is a buffalo of buffaloes--a Jat buffalo of noimagination and no sense. He is buffalo enough to love the BritishRaj and his squadron of Jat farmers with all his stupid Sikh heart!There _could_ not be a better for the purpose than this RanjoorSingh! He is stupid enough, and nearly blunt enough, to be anEnglishman. He is just of the very caliber to fool a German! Trustme, sahib--I, who picked the man who--"

"That'll do!" said the general; and Yasmini laughed again like thetinkling of a silver bell. 

There came then a soft rap on the door. It opened about six inches, and a maid whispered. 

"Wait!" ordered Yasmini. "Come through! Wait here!" She pulled themaid through the door to the little back stair-head landing. "Did youhear?" she hissed excitedly. "She says Kirby sahib has come, andanother with him!"

She was twitching with excitement. Her fingers clutched thegeneral's sleeve, and he found himself thinking of his youth. Hereleased her fingers gently and she spared a giggle for him. 

"Bad business!" said the general again. "Kirby will ask questionsand go away; but the troopers of Ranjoor Singh's squadron will comelater, and they will not go away in such a hurry. You can foolColonel Kirby sahib, but you can not fool a hundred troopers!"

"No?" she purred. She had done thinking and was herself again, impudent and artful. "I can fool anybody, and any thousand men! Ihave sent Sita Ram already with a message to the troopers of RanjoorSingh's squadron. The message was supposed to be from him, and it wasworded just as he would have worded it. Presently Sita Ram will comeback, when he has helped himself to payment. Then I can send him withyet another message. 

"Go and put thoughts into the buffalo's head, General sahib, and bequick! There must be a message--a written message from Ranjoor Singhto Kirby sahib--and a token--forget not the token, in proof that thewriting is not forged! Forget not the token. There must surely be atoken!"

She pushed the general forward down a passage, through a series ofdoors, and down another passage--halted him while she fitted astrange native key into a lock--opened another door, and pushed himthrough. Then she ran back to her maid. 

"Send somebody to find Sita Ram! Bid him hurry! When he comes, puthim in the small room next the cobras, and let him be shown thecobras until fear of too much talking has grown greater in him thanthe love of being heard! Then let me see him in a mirror, so that Imay know when it is time. Have cobras in a hair-noose ready, closebehind where the sahibs sit, and watch through the hangings for mysignal! Both sahibs will kneel to me. Then watch for another signal, and let all lights be blown out instantly! Or, if the sahibs do notkneel (though they _shall!_), then watch yet more closely for asignal which I will give to extinguish lights. 

"So--now, go! Am I beautiful? Are my eyes bright? Twist me thatjasmine in my hair--so. Now run--I will surprise them through thehangings!"

So Yasmini surprised Kirby and his adjutant, as has been told, andit need not be repeated how she humbled the pride of India's army ontheir knees. She would have to forego the delight of being Yasminibefore she could handle any situation or plan any coup along ordinarylines, and Kirby and his adjutant were not the first Englishmen, norlikely to be the last, to feed her merriment. 

The general, for his part, had--even although pushed withoutceremony through a door--behaved with perfect confidence, for he knewthat, whatever her whim or her sense of humor, or her impudence, Yasmini would not fail him in the pinch. Even she, whose jest it isto see men writhe under her hand, has to own somebody her master, andthough she would giggle at the notion of fearing any one man, or anydozen, she does fear the representative of what she and perhaps ahundred others call "The Game. " For the night, and for the place, thegeneral was that representative, and however much he mightdisapprove, he had no doubt of her. 

 * * * * *

Ranjoor Singh stood aghast at sight of him, and the trooper salutedlike an automaton, since nothing save obedience was any affair of his. 

"Evening, Risaldar-Major!" smiled the general. 

"Salaam, General sahib!"

"To save time, I will tell you that I know stage by stage how yougot here. "

Ranjoor Singh looked suspicious. For five-and-twenty years he hadwatched British justice work, and British justice gives both sides ahearing; he had not told his own version yet. 

"I know that you have had word in another part of this house with aGerman, who pretends to be a merchant but who is really a spy. "

Ranjoor Singh looked even more suspicious. The charge was true, though, so he did not answer. 

"Your being brought to this house was part of a plan--part of thesame plan that leaves the German still at liberty. You are wanted totake further part in it. "

"General sahib, am I an officer of the Raj or am I dreaming?"

Ranjoor Singh had found his tongue at last, and the general notedwith keen pleasure that eye, voice and manner were angry and unafraid. 

"I command a squadron, sahib, unless I have been stricken mad! Sincewhen is a squadron commander brought face-downward in a carriage outof rat-traps by a woman to do a general's bidding? That has been myfate to-night. Now I am wanted to take further part! Is my honor notyet dirtied enough, General sahib? I will take no further part. Irefuse to obey! I order this trooper not to obey. I demand courtmartial!"

"I see I'd better begin with an apology, " smiled the general! He wasnot trying to pretend he felt comfortable. 

"Nay, sahib! I would accept no apology. It must first be proved tome that he, who tells me I am wanted to take further part in this rat-hole treachery, is not a traitor to the Raj! I have read of generalsturning traitors! I have read about Napoleon; I know how his generalsbehaved when the sand in his glass seemed run. I am for the Raj inthis and in any other hour! I refuse to obey or to accept apology!Let the explanation be made me at court martial, with Colonel Kirbysahib present to bear witness to my character!"

"As you were!"

The general's eyes met those of the Sikh officer, and neither couldhave told then, or at any other time, what exactly it was that eachman recognized. 

"Ranjoor Singh, when I entered this house ten minutes ago I had nonotion I should find you here. I have served the same 'Salt' withyou, on the same campaigns. I even wear the same medals. In the samehouse I am entitled to the same credit. 

"I am here on urgent business for the Raj, and you are here owing toa grave mistake, which I admit and for which I tender you the mostsincere apology on behalf of the government, but which I can notalter. I expected to find a trooper here, not necessarily of yourregiment, who should have been waylaid and tempted beyond any doubtas to his trustworthiness. 

"I received a message that Yasmini had two absolutely honest menready, and I came at once to give them their instructions. I ask youto sacrifice your pride, as we all of us must on occasion, and yourrights, as is a soldier's privilege, and see this business through toa finish. It is too late to make other arrangements, Ranjoor Singh. "

"Sahib, squadron-leading is my trade! I am not cut out for rat-runsoldiering! I am willing to leave this house and hold my tongue, andto take this trooper with me and see that he holds his tongue. Bynine tomorrow morning I will have satisfied myself that you are forand not against the Raj. And having satisfied myself, I and thistrooper here will hold our tongues for ever. _Bass!_"

The general stood as still on his square foot of floor as didRanjoor Singh on his. It was the fact that he did not flinch and didnot strut about, but stood in one spot with his arms behind him thatconfirmed Ranjoor Singh in his reading of the general's eye. 

"You may leave the house, then, and take your trooper. I accept yourpromise. Before you go, though, I'll tell you something. The orderingof troops for the front--for France--is in my hands. Your regimentis slated for to-morrow. But it can't go unless you'll see thisthrough. The whole regiment will be needed, instead, to mount guardover Delhi. "

"The regiment is to go, sahib, and my squadron, and--and I not? I amnot to go?"

"That is the sacrifice you are asked to make!"

"Have I made no sacrifices for the Raj? How has my life been spent?Sahib----"

The Sikh's voice broke and he ceased speaking, but the general, too, seemed at a loss for words. 

"Sahib--do I understand? If I do this--this rat-business, whateverit is--Colonel Kirby and the regiment go, and another leads mysquadron? And unless I do this, whatever it is, the regiment will notgo?"

The general nodded. He felt and looked ashamed. 

"Has war been declared, sahib?"

"Yes. Germany has invaded Belgium. "

For a second the Sikh's eyes blazed, but the fire died down again. He clasped his hands in front of him and hung his head. "I will dothis thing that I am asked to do, " he said; but his words werescarcely audible. His trooper came a step closer, to be nearer to himin his minute of acutest agony. 

"Thou and I, Jagut Singh! We both stay behind!"

"Now, Risaldar-Major, I want you to listen! You've promised like aman, " said the general. "I'll make you the best promise I can inreturn. Mine's conditional, but it's none the less emphatic. Ifpossible, you shall catch your regiment before it puts to sea. Ifthat's impossible, you shall take passage on another ship and try toovertake it. If that again is impossible, you shall follow yourregiment and be in France in time to lead your squadron. I think Imay say you are sure to be there before the regiment goes intoaction. But, understand--I said, 'If possible!'"

Ranjoor Singh's eye brightened and he straightened perceptibly. 

"This trooper, sahib----"

"My promise is for him as well. "

"We accept, sahib! What is the duty?"

"First, write a note to Colonel Kirby--I'll see that it's delivered--asking him to put your name in Orders as assigned to special duty. Here's paper and a fountain pen. "

"Why should all this be secret from Colonel Kirby?" asked RanjoorSingh. "There is no wiser and no more loyal officer!"

"Nor any officer more pugnacious on his juniors' account, I assureyou! I can't imagine his agreeing to the use I'm making of you. I'veno time to listen to his protests. Write, man, write!"

"Give me the paper and the pen, sahib!"

Ranjoor Singh wrote by the light of a flickering oil lamp, using histrooper's shoulder for support. He passed the finished note back tothe general. 

"Now some token, please, Risaldar-Major, that Colonel Kirby will besure to recognize--something to prove that the note is not forged. "

Ranjoor Singh pulled a ring from his finger and held it out. 

"Colonel Kirby sahib gave me this, " he said simply. 

"Thanks. Shake hands, will you? I've been talking to a man to-night--to two men--if I ever did in my life! I shall go now and give thisletter to somebody to deliver to Colonel Kirby, and I shall not seeyou again probably until all this is over. Please do what Yasminidirects until you hear from me or can see for yourself that your taskis finished. Depend on me to remember my promise!"

Ranjoor Singh saluted, military-wise, although he was not inuniform. The general answered his salute and left the room, to be metby a maid, who took the note and the ring from him. Five minuteslater, with his rough disguise resumed, the general hunted aboutamong the shadows of the neighboring streets until he had found hiscarriage. He recognized, but was not recognized by, the risaldar onthe box-seat of Colonel Kirby's shay. 

 Teeth of a wolf on a whitened bone, What do the splinters say? Scent of a sambur, up and gone, Where will he stand at bay? Sparks in the whirl of a hurrying wind. Who was it laid the light? Mischief, back of a woman's mind, Why do the thoughtless fight?

CHAPTER XII

Black smoke still billowed upward from the gutted House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers, and although there were few stars visible, a waterymoon looked out from between dark cloudracks and showed up the smokeabove the Delhi roofs. Yasmini picked the right simile as usual. Itlooked as if the biggest genie ever dreamed of must be hurrying outof a fisherman's vase. 

"And who is the fisherman?" she laughed, for she is fond of thatsort of question that sets those near her thinking and disguises thetrend of her own thoughts as utterly as if she had not any. 

"The genie might be the spirit of war!" ventured a Baluchi, forgetting the one God of his Koran in a sententious effort to pleaseYasmini. 

She flashed a glance at him. 

"Or it might be the god of the Rekis, " she suggested; and everybodychuckled, because Baluchis do not relish reference to their laxreligious practise any more than they like to be called "desertpeople. " This man was a Rind Baluch of the Marri Hills, and proud ofit; but pride is not always an asset at Yasmini's. 

They--and the police would have dearly loved to know exactly who"they" were--stood clustered in Yasmini's great, deep window thatoverlooks her garden--the garden that can not be guessed at from thestreet. There was not one of them who could have explained how theycame to assemble all on that side of the room; the movement hadseemed to evolve out of the infinite calculation that everybody takesfor granted, and Moslems particularly, since there seems nothing elseto do about it. 

It did not occur to anybody to credit Yasmini with the arrangement, or with the suddenly aroused interest in smoke against the after-midnight sky. Yet, when another man entered whose disguise was a joketo any practised eye--and all in the room were practised--it lookedto the newcomer almost as if his reception had been ready staged. 

He was dressed as a Mohammedan gentleman. But his feet, when hestood still, made nearly a right angle to each other, and hisshoulders had none of the grace that goes with good native breeding;they were proud enough, but the pride had been drilled in andcultivated. It sat square. And if a native gentleman had walkedthrough the streets as this man walked, all the small boys of thebazaars would have followed him to learn what nation his might be. 

Yasmini seemed delighted with him. She ran toward him, curtsied tohim, and called him _bahadur_. She made two maids bring a chairfor him, and made them set it near the middle of the window whence hecould see the smoke, pushing the men away on either side until he hada clear view. 

But he knew enough of the native mind, at all events, to look at thesmoke and not remark on it. It was so obvious that he was meant totalk about the smoke, or to ask about it, that even a GermanOrientalist understanding the East through German eyes had tactenough to look in silence, and so to speak, "force trumps. "

And that again, of course, was exactly what Yasmini wanted. Moreover, she surprised him by not leading trumps. 

"They are here, " she said, with a side-wise glance at the more thanthirty men who crowded near the window. 

The German--and he made no pretense any longer of being anything butGerman--sat sidewise with both hands on his knees to get a betterview of them. He scanned each face carefully, and each manentertained a feeling that he had been analyzed and ticketed andstood aside. 

"I have seen all these before, " he said. "They are men of the North, and good enough fighters, I have no doubt. But they are not what Iasked for. How many of these are trained soldiers? Which of thesecould swing the allegiance of a single native regiment. It is timenow for proofs and deeds. The hour of talk is gone. Bring me asoldier!"

"These also say it is all talk, sahib--words, words, words! They saythey will wait until the fleet that has been spoken of comes tobombard the coast. For the present there are none to rally round. "

"Yet you hinted at soldiers!" said the German. "You hinted at aregiment ready to revolt!"

"Aye, sahib! I have repeated what _these_ say. When the soldiercomes there shall be other talk! See yonder smoke, _bahadur?_"

Now, then, it was time to notice things, and the German gazed overthe garden and Delhi walls and roofs at what looked very much moreimportant than it really was. It looked as if at least a street mustbe on fire. 

"He made that holocaust, did the soldier!"

Yasmini's manner was of blended awe and admiration. 

"He was suspected of disloyalty. He entered that house to makearrangements for the mutiny of a whole regiment of Sikhs, who are notwilling to be sent to fight across the sea. He was followed to thehouse, and so, since he would not be taken, he burned all the houses. Such, a man is he who comes presently. Did the sahib hear the mobroar when the flames burst out at evening? No? A pity! There weremany soldiers in the mob, and many thousand discontented people!"

She went close to the window, to be between the German and thelight, and let him see her silhouetted in an attitude of hopeawakening. She gazed at the billowing smoke as if the hope of Indiawere embodied in it. 

"It was thus in 'fifty-seven, " she said darkly. "Men began withburnings!"

Brown eyes, behind the German, exchanged glances, for the East ischary of words when it does not understand. The German nodded, for hehad studied history and was sure he understood. 

"Sahib _hai_!" said a sudden woman's voice, and Yasmini startedas if taken by surprise. There were those in the room who knew thatwhen taken by surprise she never started; but they were not German. "He is here!" she whispered; and the German showed that he felt acrisis had arrived. He settled down to meet it like a soldier and aman. 

"Salaam!" purred Yasmini in her silveriest voice, as Ranjoor Singhstrode down the middle of the room with the dignity the West may someday learn. 

"See!" whispered Yasmini. "He trusts nobody. He brings his own guardwith him!"

By the door at which he had entered stood a trooper of D Squadron, Outram's Own, no longer in uniform, but dressed as a Sikh servant. The man's arms were folded on his breast. The rigidity, straightstature, and attitude appealed to the German as the sight of sea didto the ancient Greeks. 

"Salaam!" said Ranjoor Singh. 

The German noticed that his eyes glowed, but the rest of him was allcalm dignity. 

"We have met before, " said the German, rising. "You are the Sikhwith whom I spoke the other night--the Sikh officer--the squadronleader!"

_"Ja!"_ said Ranjoor Singh; and the one word startled theGerman so that he caught his breath. 

_"Sie sprechen Deutsch?"_

_"Ja wohl!"_

The German muttered something half under his breath that may havebeen meant for a compliment to Ranjoor Singh, but the risaldar-majormissed it, for he had stepped up to the nearest of the Northerngentlemen and confronted him. There was a great show of looking ineach other's eyes and muttering under the breath some word andcounter-word. Each made a sign with his right hand, then with hisleft, that the German could not see, and then Ranjoor Singh steppedside wise to the next man. 

Man by man, slowly and with care, he looked each man present in theeyes and tested him for the password, while Yasmini watched admiringly. 

"Any who do not know the word will die to-night!" she whispered; andthe German nodded, because it was evident that the Northerners werequite afraid. He approved of that kind of discipline. 

"These are all true men--patriots, " said Ranjoor Singh, walking backto him. "Now say what you have to say. "

"_Jetzt_----" began the German. 

"Speak Hindustani that they all may understand, " said Ranjoor Singh;and the others gathered closer. 

"My friend, I am told----"

But Yasmini broke in, bursting between Ranjoor Singh and the German. 

"Nay, let the sahibs go alone into the other room. Neither willspeak his mind freely before company--is it not so? Into the otherroom, sahibs, while we wait here!"

Ranjoor Singh bowed, and the German clicked his heels together. Ranjoor Singh made a sign, but the German yielded precedence; soRanjoor Singh strode ahead, and the German followed him, wishing tohigh Heaven he could learn to walk with such consummate grace. Asthey disappeared through the jingling bead-curtain, the Sikh trooperfollowed them, and took his stand again with folded arms by the door-post. The German saw him, and smiled; he approved of that. 

Then Yasmini gathered her thirty curious Northerners together aroundher and proceeded to entertain them while the plot grew nearer to itsclimax in another room. She led them back to the divans by the innerwall. She set them to smoking while she sang a song to them. Sheparried their questions with dark hints and innuendoes that left themmore mystified than ever; yet no man would admit he could notunderstand. 

And then she danced to them. She danced for an hour, to the wildminor music that her women made, and she seemed to gather strengthand lightness as the night wore on. Near dawn the German and RanjoorSingh came out together, to find her yet dancing, and she ceased onlyto pull the German aside and speak to him. 

"Does he _really_ speak German?" she whispered. 

"He? He has read Nietzsche and von Bernhardi in the German!"

"Who are they?"

"They are difficult to read--philosophers. "

"Has he satisfied you?"

"He has promised that he will. "

"Then go before I send the rest away!"

So the German tried to look like a Mohammedan again, and went belowto a waiting landau. Before he was half-way down the stairs Yasmini'shands gripped tight on Ranjoor Singh's forearms and she had himbacked into a corner. 

"Ranjoor Singh, thou art no buffalo! I was wrong! Thou are a greatman, Ranjoor Singh!"

She received no answer. 

"What hast thou promised him?"

"To show him a mutinous regiment of Sikhs. "

"And what has he promised?"

"To show me what we seek. "

She nodded. 

"Good!" she said. 

"So now I promise thee something, " said Ranjoor Singh sternly. "To-morrow--to-day--I shall eat black shame on thy account, for this isthy doing. Later I will go to France. Later again, I will come backand--"

"And love me as they all do!" laughed Yasmini, pushing him away. 

 If I must lie, who love the truth, (And honour bids me lie), I'll tell a lordly lie forsooth To be remembered by. If I must cheat, whose fame is fair, And fret my fame away, I'll do worse than the devil dare That men may rue the day!

CHAPTER XIII

Beyond question Yasmini is a craftsman of amazing skill, and hergenius--as does all true genius--extends to the almost infiniteconsideration of small details. The medium in which she works--humanweakness--affords her unlimited opportunity; and she owns the trick, that most great artists win, of not letting her general plan be knownbefore the climax. Neither friend nor enemy is ever quite sure whichis which until she solves the problem to the enemy's confusion. 

But Yasmini could have failed in this case through overmuch finesse. She was not used to Germans, and could not realize until too latethat her compliance with this man's every demand only served to makehim more peremptory and more one-sided in his point of view. From amere agent, offering the almost unimaginable in return for merepromises, he had grown already into a dictator, demanding action as aprelude to reward. He had even threatened to cause her, Yasmini, tobe reported to the police unless she served his purpose better!

If she had obeyed the general and had picked a trooper for thebusiness in hand, it is likely that Yasmini would have had to write afailure to her account. She had come perilously near to obedience onthis occasion, and it had been nothing less than luck that putRanjoor Singh into her hands, luck being the pet name of India'skindest god. Ranjoor Singh was needed in the instant when he came tobring the German back to earth and a due sense of proportion. 

The Sikh had a rage in his heart that the German mistook for zealand native ferocity; his manners became so brusk under the stress ofit that they might almost have been Prussian, and, met with its ownreflection, that kind of insolence grows limp. 

Having agreed to lie, Ranjoor Singh lied with such audacity and somuch skill that it would have needed Yasmini to dare disbelieve him. 

The German sat in state near Yasmini's great window and received, one after another, liars by the dozen from the hills where lies arecurrent coin. Some of them had listened to his lectures, and some hadlearned of them at second hand; every man of them had received hiscue from Yasmini. There was too much unanimity among them; theywanted too little and agreed too readily to what the German had tosay; he was growing almost suspicious toward half-past ten, whenRanjoor Singh came in. 

There was no trooper behind him this time, for the man had been sentto watch for the regiment's departure, and to pounce then on Bagh, the charger, and take him away to safety. After the charger had beengroomed and fed and hidden, the trooper was to do what might be donetoward securing the risaldar-major's kit; but under no condition wasthe kit to have precedence. 

"Groom him until he shines! Guard him until I call for him! Keep himexercised!" was the three-fold order that sang through the trooper'shead and overcame astonishment in the hurry to obey. 

Now it was the German's turn to be astonished. Ranjoor Singh strodein, dressed as a Sikh farmer, and frowned down Yasmini's instantdesire to poke fun at him. The German rose to salute him, and theSikh acknowledged the salute with a nod such as royalty might sparefor a menial. 

"Come!" he said curtly, and the German followed him out through thedoor to the stair-head where so many mirrors were. There RanjoorSingh made quite a little play of making sure they were notoverheard, while the German studied his own Mohammedan disguise fromtwenty different angles. 

"Too much finery!" growled Ranjoor Singh. "I will attend to that. First, listen! Other than your talk, I have had no proof at all ofyou! You are a spy!"

"I am a--"

"You are a spy! All the spies I ever met were liars from the groundup! I am a patriot. I am working to save my country from a yoke thatis unbearable, and I _must_ deal in subterfuge and treachery ifI would win. But you are merely one who sows trouble. You are likethe little jackal--the dirty little jackal--who starts a fightbetween two tigers so that he may fill his mean belly! Don't speak--listen!"

The German's jaw had dropped, but not because words rushed to hislips. He seemed at a loss for them. 

"You made me an offer, and I accepted it, " continued Ranjoor Singh. "I accepted it on behalf of India. I shall show you in about an hourfrom now a native regiment--one of the very best native regiments, so mutinous that its officers must lead it out of Delhi to a campwhere it will be less dangerous and less likely to corrupt others. "

The German nodded. He had asked no more. 

"Then, if you fail to fulfill your part, " said Ranjoor Singh grimly, "I shall lock you in the cellar of this house, where Yasmini keepsher cobras!"

_"Vorwarts!"_ laughed the German, for there was conviction inevery word the Sikh had said. "I will show you how a German keeps hisbargain!"

"A German?" growled Ranjoor Singh. "A German--Germany is nothing tome! If Germany can pick the bones I leave, what do I care? One doesnot bargain with a spy, either; one pays his price, and throws him tothe cobras if he fail! Come!"

The question of precedence no longer seemed to trouble RanjoorSingh; he turned his back without apology, and as the German followedhim down-stairs there came a giggle from behind the curtains. 

"Were we overheard?" he asked. 

But Ranjoor Singh did not seem to care any more, and did not troubleto answer him. 

Outside the door was a bullock-cart, of the kind in which women makelong journeys, with a painted, covered super-structure. The Germanfollowed Ranjoor Singh into it, and without any need for orders theSikh driver began to twist the bullocks' tails and send them along atthe pace all India loves. Then Ranjoor Singh began to pay attentionto the German's dress, pulling off his expensive turban and replacingthat and his clothes with cheaper, dirtier ones. 

"Why?" asked the German. 

"I will show you why, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

Then they sat back, each against a side of the cart, squattingnative style. 

"This regiment that I will show you is mine, " said Ranjoor Singh. "Icommand a squadron of it--or, rather, did, until I became suspected. Every man in the regiment is mine, and will follow me at a word. WhenI give the word they will kill their English officers. "

He leaned his head out of the opening to spit; there seemedsomething in his mouth that tasted nasty. 

"Why did they mutiny?" asked the German. 

"Ordered to France!" said Ranjoor Singh, with lowered eyes. 

For a while there was silence as the cart bumped through the muddyrutty streets; the only sound that interfered with thought was thedriver's voice, apostrophizing the bullocks; and the abuse he pouredon them was so time-honored as to be unnoticeable, like the cawing ofthe city crows. 

"It is strange, " said the German, after a while. "For years I havetried to get in touch with native officers. Here and there I havefound a Sepoy who would talk with me, but you are the first officer. "He was brown-studying, talking almost to himself. He did not see thecurse in the risaldar-major's eyes. 

"I have found plenty of merchants who would promise to financerevolt, and plenty of hillmen who would promise anything. But allsaid, 'We will do what the army does!' And I could not find in allthis time, among all those people, anybody to whom I dared show whatwe--Germany--can do to help. I have seen from the first it was onlywith the aid of the army that we could accomplish anything, yet thearmy has been unapproachable. How is it that you have seemed soloyal, all of you, until the minute of war?"

Ranjoor Singh spat again through the opening with thoroughness andgreat deliberation. Then he proceeded to give proof that, as Yasminihad said, he was really not a buffalo at all. A fool would have takenchances with any one of a dozen other explanations. Ranjoor Singh, with an expression that faintly suggested Colonel Kirby, picked theright, convincing one. 

"The English are not bad people, " he said simply. "They have leftIndia better than they found it. They have been unselfish. They havetreated us soldiers fairly and honorably. We would not have revoltedhad the opportunity not come, but we have long been waiting for theopportunity. 

"We are not madmen--we are soldiers. We know the value of merewords. We have kept our plans secret from the merchants and thehillmen, knowing well that they would all follow our lead. If youthink that you, or Germany, have persuaded us, you are mistaken. Youcould not persuade me, or any other true soldier, if you tried forfifty years!

"It is because we had decided on revolt already that I was willingto listen to your offer of material assistance. We understand thatGermany expects to gain advantage from our revolt, but we can nothelp that; that is incidental. As soldiers, we accept what aid we canget from anywhere!"

"So?" said the German. 

_"Ja!"_ said Ranjoor Singh. "And that is why, if you fail me, Ishall give you to Yasmini's cobras!"

"You will admit, " said the German, "when I have shown you, thatGermany's foresight has been long and shrewd. Your great chance ofsuccess, my friend, like Germany's in this war, depends on a sudden, swift, tremendous success at first; the rest will follow as a logicalcorollary. It is the means of securing that first success that wehave been making ready for you for two years and more. "

"You should have credit for great secrecy, " admitted Ranjoor Singh. "Until a little while ago I had heard nothing of any German plans. "

"Russia got the blame for what little was guessed at!" laughed theGerman. 

"Oh!" said Ranjoor Singh. 

A little before midday they reached the Ajmere Gate, and thelumbering cart passed under it. At the farther side the driverstopped his oxen without orders, and Ranjoor Singh stepped out, looking quickly up and down the road. There were people about, butnone whom he chose to favor with a second glance. 

Close by the gate, almost under the shadow of it, and so drab anddirty as to be almost unnoticeable, there was a little cotton-tentedbooth, with a stock of lemonade and sweetmeats, that did interesthim. He looked three times at it, and at the third look a Mohammedanwriggled out of it and walked away without a word. 

"Come!" commanded Ranjoor Singh, and the German got out of the cart, looking not so very much unlike the poor Mohammedan who had gone away. 

"Get in there!" The German slipped into the real owner's place. Sofar as appearances went, he was a very passable sweetmeat andlemonade seller, and Ranjoor Singh proved competent to guard againstcontingencies. 

He picked a long stick out of the gutter and took his stand near by, frowning as he saw a carriage he suspected to be Yasmini's driveunder the gate and come to a stand at the roadside, fifty or sixtyyards away. 

"If the officers should recognize me, " he growled to the German, though seeming not to talk to him at all, "I should be arrested atonce, and shot later. But the men _will_ recognize me, and youshall see what you shall see!"

Three small boys came with a coin to spend, but Ranjoor Singh drovethem away with his long stick; they argued shrilly from a distance, and one threw a stone at him, but finally they decided he was somenew sort of plain-clothes "constabeel, " and went away. 

One after another, several natives came to make small purchases, but, not being boys any longer, a gruff word was enough to send themrunning. And then came the clatter of hoofs of the advance-guard, andthe German looked up to see a fire in Ranjoor Singh's eyes that acaged tiger could not have outdone. 

All this while the bullock-cart in which they had come remained inthe middle of the road, its driver dozing dreamily on his seat andthe bullocks perfectly content to chew the cud. At the sound of thehoofs behind him, the driver suddenly awoke and began to belabor andkick his animals; he seemed oblivious of another cart that cametoward him, and of a third that hurried after him from underneath thegate. 

In less than sixty seconds all three carts were neatly interlocked, and their respective drivers were engaged in a war of words thatbeggared Babel. 

The advance-guard halted and added words to the torrent. ColonelKirby caught up the advance-guard and halted, too. 

"Does he look like a man who commands a loyal regiment?" askedRanjoor Singh; and the German studied the bowed head and thoughtfulangle of a man who at that minute was regretting his good friend therisaldar-major. 

"You will note that he looks chastened!"

The German nodded. 

In his own good time Ranjoor Singh ran out and helped with that longstick of his to straighten out the mess; then in thirty seconds thewheels were unlocked again and the carts moving in a hurry to theroadside. The advance-guard moved on, and Kirby followed. Then, troopby troop, the whole of Outram's Own rode by, and the German began towonder. It seemed to him that the rest of the officers were notdemure enough, although he admitted to himself that the enigmaticEastern faces in the ranks might mean anything at all. He noted thatthere was almost no talking, and he took that for a good sign forGermany. 

D Squadron came last of all, and convinced him. They roderegretfully, as men who missed their squadron leader, and who, inspite of a message from him, would have better loved to see himriding on their flank. 

But Ranjoor Singh stepped out into the road, and the right-end manof the front four recognized him. Not a word was said that the Germancould hear, but he could see the recognition run from rank to rankand troop to troop, until the squadron knew to a man; he saw themglance at Ranjoor Singh, and from him to one another, and ride onwith a new stiffening and a new air of "now we'll see what comes ofit!"

It was as evident, to his practised eye, that they were glad to haveseen Ranjoor Singh, and looked forward to seeing him again veryshortly, as that they were in a mood for trouble, and he decided tobelieve the whole of what the Sikh had said on the strength of theobvious truth of part of it. 

"Watch now the supply train!" growled Ranjoor Singh, as the wagonsbegan to rumble by. 

The German had no means of knowing that the greater part of theregiment's war provisions had gone away by train from a Delhistation. The wagons that followed the regiment on the march were agenerous allowance for a regiment going into camp, but not more thanthat. The spies whose duty it was to watch the railway sidingsreported to somebody else and not to him. 

Ranjoor Singh beckoned him after a while, and they came out into theroad, to stand between two of the bullock-wagons and gaze after theregiment. The shuttered carriage that Ranjoor Singh had suspected tobe Yasmini's passed them again, and the man beside the driver saidsomething to Ranjoor Singh in an undertone, but the German did nothear it; he was watching the colonel and another officer talkingtogether beside the road in the distance. The shuttered carriagepassed on, but stopped in the shadow of the gate. 

"Look!" said the German. "I thought that officer--the adjutant, isn't he--recognized you. Now he is pointing you out to the colonel!Look!"

Ranjoor Singh did look, and he saw that Colonel Kirby was waiting tolet the regiment go by. He knew what was passing through Kirby'smind, since it is given to some men, native and English, to havefaith in each other. And he knew that there was danger ahead of himthrough which he might not come with his life, perhaps even with hishonor. He would have given, like Kirby, a full year's pay for a hand-shake then, and have thought the pay well spent. 

Kirby began to canter back. 

"He has recognized you!" said the German. 

"And he is coming to cut me down!" swore Ranjoor Singh. 

He dragged the German back behind the nearest cart, and togetherthey ran for the gloom of the big gate, leaving the driver of thebullock-cart standing at gaze where Ranjoor Singh had stood. The doorof the shuttered carriage flew open as they reached it, and RanjoorSingh pushed the German in. He stood a moment longer, with his footon the carriage step, watching Colonel Kirby; he watched him questionthe bullock-cart driver. 

Then a voice that he recognized said, "Buffalo!" and he followedinto the carriage, shutting the door behind him. 

The carriage was off almost before the door slammed. 

 * * * * *

"Am I to be kept waiting for a week, while a Jat farmer gazes atcattle on the road?" demanded Yasmini, sitting forward out of thedarkest corner of the carriage and throwing aside a veil. "He caresnothing for thee!" she whispered. "Didst thou see the jasmine dropinto his lap from the gate? That was mine! Didst thou see him buttonit into his tunic? So, Ranjoor Singh! That for thy colonel sahib! Andhis head will smell of _my_ musk for a week to come! What--whatfools men are! _Jaldee, jaldee!"_ she called to the driverthrough the shutters, and the man whipped up his pair. 

It was more than scandalous to be driven through Delhi streets in ashuttered carriage with a native lady, and even the German's presencescarcely modified the sensation; the German did not appreciate therarity of his privilege, for he was too busy staring through theshutters at a world which tried its best to hide excitement; butRanjoor Singh was aware all the time of Yasmini's mischievous eyesand of mirth that held her all but speechless. He knew that she wouldmake up tales about that ride, and would have told them to half ofIndia to his enduring shame before a year was out. 

"Are you satisfied?" she asked the German, after a long silence. 

"Of what?" asked the German. 

"That Ranjoor Singh sahib can do what he has promised. "

The German laughed. 

"I have an excuse for doing what I promised, " he said, "if that iswhat you mean. "

"That regiment, " said Ranjoor Singh, since he had made up his mindto lie thoroughly, "will camp a day's march out of Delhi. The menwill wait to hear from me for a day or two, but after that they willmutiny and be done with it; the men are almost out of hand withexcitement. "

"You mean--"

The German's eyebrows rose, and his light-blue eyes sought RanjoorSingh's. 

"I mean that now is the time to do your part, that I may continuedoing mine!" he answered. 

"What I have to offer would be of no use without the regiment to useit, " said the German. "Let the regiment mutiny, and I will lead youand it at once to what I spoke of. "

"No, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

"What then?"

"It does not suit my plan, or my convenience, that there should beany outbreak until I myself have knowledge of all my resources. Wheneverything is in my hand, I will strike hard and fast in my own goodtime. "

"You seem to forget, " said the German, "that the material aid Ioffer is from Germany, and that therefore Germany has a right tostate the terms. Of course, I know there are the cobras, but I am notafraid of them. Our stipulation is that there shall be at least ashow of fight before aid is given. If the cobras deal with me, and mysecret dies with me, there will be one German less and that is all. That regiment I have seen looks ripe for mutiny. "

Ranjoor Singh drew breath slowly through set teeth. 

"Let it mutiny, " said the German, "and I am ready with such materialassistance as will place Delhi at its mercy. Delhi is the key toIndia!"

"It shall mutiny to-night!" said Ranjoor Singh abruptly. 

The German stared hard at him, though not so hard as Yasmini; thechief difference was that nobody could have told she was staring, whereas the German gaped. 

"It shall mutiny to-night, and you shall be there! You shall lead usthen to this material aid you promise, and after that, if it allturns out to be a lie, as I suspect, we will talk about cobras. "

For a minute, two minutes, three minutes, while the rubber tiresbumped along the road toward Yasmini's, the German sat in silence, looking straight in front of him. 

"Order horses for him and me!" commanded Ranjoor Singh; and Yasminibowed obedience. 

"When will you start?" the German asked. 

"Now! In twenty minutes! We will follow the regiment and reach campsoon after it. "

"I must speak first with my colleagues, " said the German. 

"No!" growled the Sikh. 

"My secret information is that several regiments are orderedoversea. Some of them will consent to go, my friend. We will do wellto wait until as many regiments as possible are on the water, andthen strike hard with the aid of such as have refused to go. "

The carriage drew up at Yasmini's front door, and a man jumped offthe box seat to open the carriage. 

"Say the rest inside!" she ordered. "Go into the house! Quickly!"

So the German stepped out first, moving toward the door much toospryly for the type of street merchant he was supposed to be. 

"Do you mean that?" whispered Yasmini, as she pushed past RanjoorSingh. "Do you mean to ride away with him and stage a mutiny? How canyou?"

"She-buffalo!" he answered, with the first low laugh she had heardfrom him since the game began. 

She ran into the house and all the way up the two steep flights ofstairs, laughing like a dozen peals of fairy bells. 

At the head of the stairs she began to sing, for she looked back andsaw babu Sita Ram waddling wheezily up-stairs after Ranjoor Singh andthe German. 

"The gods surely love Yasmini!" she told her maids. "Catch me thatbabu and bottle him! Drive him into a room where I can speak with himalone!"

"Oh, my God, my God!" wailed the babu at the stair-head from amid amaze of women who hustled and shoved him all one way, and that theway he did not want to go. "I must speak with that German gentlemanwho was giving lecture here--must positivelee give him warning, orall his hopes will be blasted everlastinglee! No--that is room whereare cobras--I will not go there!"

In three native languages, one after the other, he pleaded andwailed to no good end; the women were too many for him. He was shovedinto a small room as a fat beast is driven into a slaughter-stall, and a door was slammed shut on him. He screamed at an unexpectedvoice from behind a curtain, and a moment later burst into a sweatfrom reaction at the sight of Yasmini. 

"Listen, _babuji, _" she purred to him. 

"Who was that man asking for me?" demanded the German. 

"How should I know?" snorted Ranjoor Singh. "Are we to turn asidefor every fat babu that asks to speak to us? I have sent for horses. "

"I will speak with that man!" said the German. 

He began to walk up and down the length of the long room, pushingaside the cushions irritably, and at one end knocking over a greatbowl of flowers. He did not appear conscious of his clumsiness, anddid not seem to see the maids who ran to mop up the water. At thenext turn down the room he pushed between them as if they had notbeen there. Ranjoor Singh stood watching him, stroking a black beardreflectively; he was perfectly sure that Yasmini would make the nextmove, and was willing to wait for it. 

"The horses should be here in a few minutes, " he said hopefully, after a while, for he heard a door open. 

Then babu Sita Ram burst in, half running, and holding his greatstomach as he always did when in a hurry. 

"Oh, my God!" he wailed. "Quick! Where is German gentleman? And notknowing German, how shall I make meaning clear? German should bereckoned among dead languages and--Ah! My God, sir, you astonish me!Resemblance to Mohammedan of no particular standing in community isfirst class! How shall I--"

"Say it in English!" said the German, blocking his way. 

"My God, sahib, it is bad news! How shall I avoid customaree stigmaattaching to bearer of ill tidings?"

"Speak!" said the German. "I won't hurt you!"

"Sahib, in pursuit unavailingly of chance emolument in neighborhoodof Chandni Chowk just recently--"

"How recently?" the German asked. 

"Oh, my God! So recently that there are yet erections of cuticle alldown my back! Sahib, not more than twenty minutes have elapsed, and Isaw this with my own eyes!"

"Saw what--where?"

"Where? Have I not said where? My God, I am so upset as to be losingsense of all proportion! Where? At German place of business--Sigelmanand Meyer--in small street leading out of Chandni Chowk. In search ofchance emolument, and finding none yet--finding none yet, sahib--sahib, I am poor man, having wife and familee dependent and also many otherdisabilitees, including wife's relatives. "

The German gave him some paper money impatiently. The babu unfoldedit, eyed the denomination with a spasm of relief, folded it again, and appeared to stow it into his capacious stomach. 

"Sahib, while I was watching, police came up at double-quick marchand arrested everybodee, including all Germans in building. There wasmuch annoyance manifested when search did not reveal presence of oneother sahib. So I ran to give warning, being veree poor man andwithout salaried employment. "

"What happened to the Germans?"

"Jail, sahib! All have gone to jail! By this time they are allexcommunication, supplied with food and water by authorities. Havingonce been jail official myself, I can testify--"

"What happened to the office?"

"Locked up, sahib! Big red seal--much sealing wax, and stamp ofpolice department, with notice regarding penalty for breaking same, and also police sentry at door!"

Looking more unlike a Mohammedan street vender than ever, the Germanbegan to pace the room again with truly martial strides, frowning ashe sought through the recesses of his mind for the correct solutionof the problem. 

"Listen!" he said, coming to a stand in front of Ranjoor Singh. "Ihave changed my mind!"

"The horses are ready, " answered Ranjoor Singh. 

"The German government has been to huge expense to provide aid ofthe right kind, to be ready at the right minute. My sole business isto see that the utmost use is made of it. "

"That also is my sole business!" vowed Ranjoor Singh. 

"You have heard that the police are after me?"

Ranjoor Singh nodded. 

"Can you get away from here unseen--unknown to the police?"

Ranjoor Singh nodded again, for he was very sure of Yasmini'sresource. 

Again the German began to pace the room, now with his hands behindhim, now with folded arms, now with his chin down to his breast, andnow with a high chin as he seemed on the verge of reaching somedetermination. And then Yasmini began to loose the flood of herresources, that Ranjoor Singh might make use of what he chose; shewas satisfied to leave the German in the Sikh's hands and to squanderaid at random. 

Men began to come in, one at a time. They would whisper to RanjoorSingh, and hurry out again. Some of them would whisper to Yasminiover in the window, and she would give them mock messages to carry, very seriously. Babu Sita Ram was stirred out of a meditative comaand sent hurrying away, to come back after a little while and wringhis hands. He ran over to Yasmini. 

"It is awful!" he wailed. "Soon there will be no troops left withwhich to quell Mohammedan uprising. All loyal troops are leaving, andnone but disloyal men are left behind. The government is mad, and Iam veree much afraid!"

Yasmini quieted him, and Ranjoor Singh, pretending to be busy withother messengers, noted the effect of the babu's wail on the German. He judged the "change of mind" had gone far enough. 

"We should lose time by following my regiment, " he said at last. "There are now five more regiments ready to mutiny, and they willcome to me to wherever I send for them. "

The German's blue eyes gazed into the Sikh's brown ones veryshrewdly and very long. His hand sought the neighborhood of his hip, and dwelt there a moment longer than the Sikh thought necessary. 

"I have decided we must hurry, " he said. "I will show you what Ihave to show. I will not be taking chances. You must bring amessenger, and he must go for your mutineers while you stay therewith me. When we are there, you will be in my power until theregiments come; and when they come I will surrender to you. Do youagree?"

"Yes, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

"Then choose your messenger. Choose a man who will not try to playtricks--a man who will not warn the authorities, because if there isany slip, any trickery, I will undo in one second all that has beendone!"

So Ranjoor Singh conferred with Yasmini over the two great bowls offlowers that always stand in her big window; and she suppressed asqueal of excitement while she watched the German resume his pacingup and down. 

"Take Sita Ram!" she advised. 

Ranjoor Singh scowled at the babu. 

"That fat bellyful of fear!" he growled. "I would rather take a pig!"

"All the same, take Sita Ram!" she advised. 

So the babu was roused again out of a comfortable snooze, andYasmini whispered to him something that frightened him so much thathe trembled like a man with palsy. 

"I am married man with children!" he expostulated. 

"I will be kind to your widow!" purred Yasmini. 

"I will not go!" vowed the babu. 

"Put him in the cobra room!" she commanded, and some maids camecloser to obey. 

"I will go!" said Sita Ram. "But, oh, my God, a man should receivepecuniary recompense far greater than legendary ransom! I shall notcome back alive! I know I shall not come back alive!"

"Who cares, _babuji?_" asked Yasmini. 

"True!" said Sita Ram. "This is land of devil-take-hindmost, andwith my big stomach I am often last. I am veree full of fear!"

"We shall need food, " interposed the German. "Water will be there, but we had better have sufficient food with us for two nights. "

Yasmini gave a sharp order, and several of her maids ran out of theroom. Ten minutes later they returned with three baskets, and gaveone each to the German, to Ranjoor Singh, and to Sita Ram. Sita Hamopened his and peered in. The German opened his, looked pleased, andclosed the lid again. Ranjoor Singh accepted his at its face value, and did not open it. 

"May the memsahib never lack plenty from which to give!" he said, for there is no word for "Thank you" in all India. 

"I will bless the memsahib at each mouthful!" said Sita Ram. 

"Truly a bellyful of blessings!" laughed Yasmini. 

Then they all went to the stair-head and watched and listenedthrough the open door while a closed carriage was driven away in agreat hurry. Three maids and six men came up-stairs one afteranother, at intervals, to report the road all clear; the firstcarriage had not been followed, and there was nobody watching;another carriage waited. Babu Sita Ram was sent downstairs to getinto the waiting carriage and stay there on the lookout. 

"Now bring him better clothes!" said Ranjoor Singh. 

But Yasmini had anticipated that order. 

"They are in the carriage, on the seat, " she said. 

So the German went down-stairs and climbed in beside the babu, changing his turban at once for the better one that he found waitingin there. 

"This performance is worth a rajah's ransom!" grumbled babu SitaRam. "Will sahib not put elbow in my belly, seeing same is highlysensitive?"

But the German laughed at him. 

"Love is rare, non-contagious sickness!" asserted Sita Ram withconviction. 

At the head of the stairs Ranjoor Singh and Yasmini stood lookinginto each other's eyes. He looked into pools of laughter and mysterythat told him nothing at all; she saw a man's heart glowing in hisbrown ones. 

"It will be for you now, " said Ranjoor Singh, "to act with speed andall discretion. I don't know what we are going to see, although Iknow it is artillery of some sort. I am sure he has a plan fordestroying every trace of whatever it is, and of himself and me, ifhe suspects treachery. I know no more. I can only go ahead. "

"And trust me!" said Yasmini. 

The Sikh did not answer. 

"And trust me!" repeated Yasmini. "I will save you out of this, Ranjoor Singh sahib, that we may fight our quarrel to a finish lateron. What would the world be without enemies? You will not findartillery!"

"How do you know?"

"I have known for nearly two years what you will find there, myfriend! Only I have not known exactly where to find it. And yetsometimes I have thought that I have known that, too! Go, RanjoorSingh. You will be in danger. Above all, do not try to force thatGerman's hand too far until I come with aid. It is better to talkthan fight, so long as the enemy is strongest!"

"Woman!" swore Ranjoor Singh so savagely that she laughed straightinto his face. "If you suspect--if you can guess where we are going--sendmen to surround the place and watch!"

"Will a tiger walk into a watched lair?" she answered. "Go, talker!Go and do things!"

So, swearing and dissatisfied, Ranjoor Singh went down and climbedon to the box seat of a two-horse carriage. 

"Which way?" he asked; and the German growled an answer through theshutters. 

"Now straight on!" said the German, after fifteen minutes. "Straighton out of Delhi!"

They were headed south, and driving very slowly, for to have drivenfast would have been to draw attention to themselves. Ranjoor Singhscarcely troubled to look about him, and Sita Ram fell into a doze, in spite of his protestations of fear. The German was the only one ofthe party who was at pains to keep a lookout, and he was mostexercised to know whether they were being followed; over and overagain he called on Ranjoor Singh to stop until a following carriageshould overtake them and pass on. 

So they were a very long time driving to Old Delhi, where the ruinsof old cities stand piled against one another in a tangled mass ofverdure that is hardly penetrable except where the tracks wind in andout. The shadow of the Kutb Minar was long when they drove past it, and it was dusk when the German shouted and Ranjoor Singh turned thehorses in between two age-old trees and drew rein at a shatteredtemple door. 

Some monkeys loped away, chattering, and about a thousand parakeetsflew off, shrilling for another roost. But there was no other sign oflife. 

"Stable the horses in here!" said the German; and they did so, Ranjoor Singh dipping water out of a rain-pool and filling a stonetrough that had once done duty as receptacle for gifts for a long-forgotten god. Then they pushed the carriage under a tangle ofhanging branches. 

"Look about you!" advised the German, as he emptied food for thehorses on the temple floor; and babu Sita Ram made very careful noteof the temple bearings, while Ranjoor Singh and the German blockedthe old doorway with whatever they could find to keep night-prowlersoutside and the horses in. 

Then the German led the way into the dark, swinging a lantern thathe had unearthed from some recess. Babu Sita Ram walked second, complaining audibly and shuddering at every shadow. Last came RanjoorSingh, grim, silent. And the rain beat down on all three of themuntil they were drenched and numb, and their feet squelched in mud atevery step. 

For all the darkness, Ranjoor Singh made note of the fact that theywere following a wagon track, into which the wheels of a native carthad sunk deep times without number. Only native ox-carts leave atrack like that. 

It must have been nine o'clock, and the babu was giving signs ofnearly complete exhaustion, when they passed beyond a ring of treesinto a clearing. They stood at the edge of the clearing in a shadowfor about ten minutes, while the German watched catwise for signs oflife. 

"It is now, " he said, tapping Ranjoor Singh's chest, "that you beginto be at my mercy. I assure you that the least disobedience on yourpart will mean your instant death!"

"Lead on!" growled Ranjoor Singh. 

"Do you recognize the place?"

Ranjoor Singh peered through the rain in every direction. At eachcorner of the clearing, north, south, east and west, he could dimlysee some sort of ruined arch, and there was another ruin in the center. 

"No, " he said. 

"This is the oldest temple ruin anywhere near Delhi. On someinscriptions it is called 'Temple of the Four Winds, ' but the oldHindu who lived in it before we bribed him to go away called it the'Winds of the World. ' It is known as 'Winds of the World' on thebooks of the German War Office. I think it is really of Greek originmyself, but I am not an Orientalist, and the text-books all say thatI am wrong. "

"Lead on!" said Ranjoor Singh; and the German led them, swinging hislantern and seeming not at all afraid of being seen now. 

"We have taken steps quite often to make the people hereaboutsbelieve this temple haunted!" he said. "They avoid it at night as ifthe devil lived here. If any of them see my lantern, they will notstop running till they reach the sea!"

They came to a ruin that was such an utter ruin that it looked as ifan earthquake must have shaken a temple to pieces to be disintegratedby the weather; but Ranjoor Singh noticed that the cart-tracks woundaround the side of it, and when they came to a fairly large teak trap-door, half hidden by creepers, he was not much surprised. 

"My God, gentlemen!" said Sita Ram. "That place is wet-weatherrefuge for many million cobras! If I must die, I will prefer toperish in rain, where wife and family may find me for proper funeralrites. I will not go in there!"

But the German raised the trap-door, and Ranjoor Singh took theunhappy babu by the scruff of his fat neck. 

"In with you!" he ordered. 

And, chattering as if his teeth were castanets, the babu trodgingerly down damp stone steps whose center had been worn into rutsby countless feet. The German came last, and let the trap slam shut. 

"My God!" yelled the babu. "Let me go! I am family man!"

"_Vorwarts_!" laughed the German, leading the way toward a teakdoor set in a stone wall. 

They were in an ancient temple vault that seemed to havemiraculously escaped from the destruction that had overwhelmed thewhole upper part. Not a stone of it was out of place. It was wind andwater-tight, and the vaulted roof, that above was nothing better thana mound of debris, from below looked nearly as perfect as when thestones had first been fitted into place. 

The German produced a long key, opened the teak door, and stoodaside to let them pass. 

"No, no!" shuddered Sita Ram; but Ranjoor Singh pushed him through;the German followed, and the door slammed shut as the trap had done. 

"And now, my friends, I will convince you!" said the German, holdingthe lantern high. "What are those?"

The light from the solitary lantern fell on rows and rows of bales, arranged in neat straight lines, until away in the distance itsuggested endless other shadowy bales, whose outlines could be littlemore than guessed at. They were in a vault so huge that Ranjoor Singhmade no attempt to estimate its size. 

"See this!" said the German, walking close to something on a woodenstand, and he held the light above it. "In the office in Delhi thatthe police have just sealed up there is a wireless apparatus verymuch like this. This, that you see here, is a detonator. This isfulminate of mercury. This is dynamite. With a touch of a certain keyin Delhi we could have blown up this vault at any minute of the pasttwo years, if we had thought it necessary to hide our tracks. A shotfrom this pistol would have much the same effect, " he added darkly. 

"But the bales?" asked Ranjoor Singh. "What is in the bales?"

"Dynamite bombs, my friend! You native soldiers have no artillery, and we have seen from the first the necessity of supplying asubstitute. By making full use of the element of surprise, thesebombs should serve your purpose. There are one million of them, packed two hundred in a bale--much more useful than artillery in thehands of untrained men!

"Those look like bales of blankets. They are. Cotton blankets fromMuenchen-Gladbach. Only, the middle blankets have been omitted, andthe outer ones have served as a cushion to prevent accidentaldischarge. They have been imported in small lots at a time, andbrought here four or five at a time in ox-carts from one or other ofthe Delhi railway stations by men who are no longer in this part ofIndia--men who have been pensioned off. "

"How did you get them through the Customs?" wondered Ranjoor Singh. 

"Did you ever see a rabbit go into his hole?" the German asked. "They were very small consignments, obviously of blankets. The dutywas paid without demur, and the price paid the Customs men was worththeir while. That part was easy!"

"Of what size are the bombs?" asked Ranjoor Singh. 

"About the size of an orange. Come, I'll show you. "

He led him to an opened bale, and showed him two hundred of themnestling like the eggs of some big bird. 

"My God!" moaned Sita Ram. "Are those dynamite? Sahibs--snakes arebetter! Snakes can feel afraid, but those--ow! Let me go away!"

"Let him go, " said the German. "Let him take his message. "

"Go, then!" ordered Ranjoor Singh; and the German walked to the doorto let him out. 

"What is your message?" he asked. 

"To Yasmini first, for she is in touch with all of them, " said SitaRam. "First I will go to Yasmini. Then she will come here to say theregiments have started. First she will come alone; after her theregiments. "

"She had better be alone!" said the German. "Go on, run! And don'tforget the way back? Wait! How will she know the way? How will youdescribe it to her?"

"She? Describe it to her? I will tell her 'The Winds of the World, 'and she will come straight. "

"How? How will she know?"

"The priest who used to be here--whom you bribed to go away--he isher night doorkeeper now!" said Sita Ram. "Yes, she will come vereequickly!"

The German let him out with an air mixed of surprise and disbelief, and returned to Ranjoor Singh with far less iron in his stride, though with no less determination. 

"Now we shall see!" he said, drawing an automatic pistol and cockingit carefully. "This is not meant as a personal threat to you, so longas we two are in here alone. It's in case of trickery from outside. Ishall blow this place sky-high if anything goes wrong. If theregiments come, good! You shall have the bombs. If they don't come, or if there's a trick played--click! Good-by! We'll argue the rest inHeaven!"

"Very well, " said Ranjoor Singh; and, to show how little he feltconcerned, he drew his basket to him and began to eat. 

The German followed suit. Then Ranjoor Singh took most of his wetclothes off and spread them upon the bales to dry. The Germanimitated that too. 

"Go to sleep if you care to, " said the German. "I shall standwatch, " he added, with a dry laugh. 

But if a Sikh soldier can not manage without sleep, there is nobodyon earth who can. Ranjoor Singh sat back against a bale, and thewatch resolved itself into a contest of endurance, with the end by nomeans in sight. 

"How long should it take that man to reach her?" asked the German. 

"Who knows?" the Sikh answered. 

"Perhaps three hours, perhaps a week! She is never still, and thereare those five regiments to hold in readiness. "

"She is a wonderful woman, " said the German. 

Ranjoor Singh grunted. 

"How is it that she has known of this place all this time, and yethas never tried to meddle with us?"

"I, too, am anxious to know that!" said Ranjoor Singh. 

"You are surly, my friend! You do not like this pistol? You take itas an insult? Is that it?"

"I am thinking of those regiments, and of these grenades, and ofwhat I mean to do, " said Ranjoor Singh. 

"Let us talk it over. "

"No. "

"Please your self!"

They sat facing each other for hour after dreary hour, leaning backagainst bales and thinking each his own thoughts. After about fourhours of it, it occurred to the German to dismantle the wirelessdetonator. 

"We should have been blown up if the police had grown inquisitive, "he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, returning to his seat. 

After that they sat still for four hours more, and then put theirclothes on, not that they were dry yet, but the German had growntired of comparing Ranjoor Singh's better physique with his own. Heput his clothes on to hide inferiority, and Ranjoor Singh followedsuit for the sake of manners. 

"What rank do you hold in your army at home?" asked Ranjoor Singh, after an almost endless interval. 

"If I told you that, my friend, you would be surprised. "

"I think not, " said Ranjoor Singh. "I think you are an officer whowas dismissed from the service. "

"What makes you think so?"

"I am sure of it!"

"What makes you sure?"

"You are too well educated for a noncommissioned officer. If you hadnot been dismissed from the service you would be on the fightingstrength, or else in the reserve and ready for the front in Europe. And what army keeps spies of your type on its strength? Am I right?"

But then came Yasmini, carrying her food-basket as the rest haddone. She knocked at the outer trap-door, and the German ran to peepthrough a hidden window at her. Then he went up a partly ruined stairand looked all around the clearing through gaps in the debrisoverhead that had been glazed for protection's sake. Then he admittedher. 

She ran in past him, ran past him again when he opened the seconddoor, and laughed at Ranjoor Singh. She seemed jubilant and verylittle interested in the bombs that the German was at pains toexplain to her. She had to tell of five regiments on the way. 

"The first will be here in two or three hours" she asserted; "yourmen, Ranjoor Singh--your Jat Sikhs that are ever first to mutiny!"

She squealed delight as the Sikh's face flushed at the insult. 

"What is the cocked pistol for?" she asked the German. 

He told her, but she did not seem frightened in the least. She beganto sing, and her voice echoed strangely through the vault until sheherself seemed to grow hypnotized by it, and she began to sway, pushing her basket away from her behind a bale near where the Germansat. 

"I will dance for you!" she said suddenly. 

She arose and produced a little wind instrument from among herclothing--a little bell-mouthed wooden thing, with a voice like Scotsbagpipes. 

"Out of the way, Ranjoor Singh!" she ordered. "Sit yonder. I willdance between you, so that the German sahib may watch both of us atonce!"

So Ranjoor Singh went back twenty feet away, wondering at her moodand wondering even more what trick she meant to play. He had reachedthe conclusion, very reluctantly, that presently the German wouldfire that pistol of his and end the careers of all three of them; sohe was thinking of the squadron on its way to France. In a way he wassorry for Yasmini; but it was the squadron and Colonel Kirby thatdrew his heart-strings. 

Swaying to and fro, from the waist upward, Yasmini began to play herlittle instrument. The echoing vault became a solid sea of throbbingnoise, and as she played she increased her speed of movement, untilthe German sat and gaped. He had seen her dance on many more than oneoccasion. So had Ranjoor Singh. Never had either of them, or anyliving man, seen Yasmini dance as she did that night. 

She was a storm. Her instrument was but an added touch of artistryto heighten the suggestion. Prom a slow, rhythmic swing she went bygusts and fits and starts to the wildest, utterly abandoned fury of ahurricane, sweeping a wide circle with her gauzy dress; and at theheight of each elemental climax, in mid-whirl of some new amazingfigure, she would set her instrument to screaming, until the Germanshouted "Bravo!" and Ranjoor Singh nodded grave approval. 

"_Kreuz blitzen!_" swore the German suddenly, leaping to hisfeet and staggering. 

And Yasmini pounced on him. Ranjoor Singh could not see what hadhappened, but he sprang to his feet and ran toward them. But beforehe could reach them Yasmini had snatched the German's pistol andtossed it to him, standing back from the writhing German, panting, with blazing eyes, and looking too lovely to be human. She did notspeak. She looked. 

And Ranjoor Singh looked too. Under the writhing German, and backagain over him, there crawled a six-foot hooded cobra, seeming tocaress the carcass of his prey. 

"He will be dead in five--ten minutes, " said Yasmini, "and then Iwill catch my snake again! If you want to ask him questions you hadbetter hurry!"

Then Ranjoor Singh recalled the offices that men had done for himwhen he was wounded. He asked the German if he might send messages, and to whom. But the dying man seemed to be speechless, and onlywrithed. It was nearly a minute before Ranjoor Singh divined hispurpose, and pounced on the hand that lay underneath him. He wrenchedaway another pistol only just in time. The snake crawled away, andYasmini coaxed it slowly back into its basket. 

"Now, " she said, "when he is dead we will drive back to Delhi andamuse ourselves! You shall run away to fight men you never quarreledwith, and I will govern India! Is that not so?"

Ranjoor Singh did not answer her. He kept trying again and again toget some message from the German to send perhaps to a friend inGermany. But the man died speechless, and Ranjoor Singh could find noscrap of paper on him or no mark that would give any clue to hisidentity. 

"Come!" said Yasmini. "Lock the door on him. We will tell thegeneral sahib, and the general sahib will send some one to bury him. Come!"

"Not yet, " said Ranjoor Singh. "Speak. When did you first know thatthese Germans had taken this vault to use?"

"More than two years ago, " she boasted, "when the old priest, thatwas no priest at all, came to me to be doorkeeper. "

"And when did you know that they were storing dynamite in here?"

"I did not know. "

"Then, blankets?"

"Bah! Two years ago, when a Customs clerk with too much money beganto make love to a maid of mine. "

"Then why did you not warn the government at once, and so save allthis trouble?"

"Buffalo! Much fun that would have been! Ranjoor Singh, thy Jatimagination does thee justice. Come, come and chase that regiment ofthine, and spill those stupid brains in France! Lock the door andcome away!"

 Brother, a favor I came to crave, Oh, more than brother, oh, more than friend! Spare me a half o' thy soldier grave, That I sleep with thee at the end! Spur to spur, and knee to knee, Brother, I'll ride to death with thee!

CHAPTER XIV

The crew of the Messageries Maritimes steamship _Duc d'Orleans_will tell of a tall Sikh officer, with many medals on his breast, whoboarded their ship in Bombay with letters to the captain from aBritish officer of such high rank as to procure him instant accessionto his request. Bound homeward from Singapore, the _Duc d'Orleans_had put into Bombay for coal, supplies and orders. She left withorders for Marseilles, and on board her there went this same Sikhofficer, who, it seemed, had missed the transport on which hisregiment had sailed. 

He had with him a huge, ill-mannered charger, and one Sikh trooperby way of servant. The charger tried to eat all that came near him, including his horse-box, the ship's crew, and enough hay for at leasttwo ordinary horses. But Ranjoor Singh, who said very little toanybody about anything, had a certain way with him, and men put upwith the charger's delinquencies for its owner's sake. 

When they reached the Red Sea, and the ship rolled less, RanjoorSingh and his trooper went to most extraordinary lengths to keep thecharger in condition. They took him out of his box and walked himaround the decks for hours at a time, taking turns at it untilofficer, trooper and horse were tired out. 

They did the same all down the Mediterranean. And when they landedat Marseilles the horse was fit, as he proved to his own brutesatisfaction by trying to kick the life out of a gendarme on the quay. 

Another letter from somebody very high, in authority to a Frenchgeneral officer in Marseilles procured the instant supply of a horsefor the Sikh trooper and two passes on a northbound train. Theevening of their landing saw them on their way to the front, RanjoorSingh in a first-class compartment, and his man in the horse-box. Neither knew any French to speak of, but the French were very kind tothese dark-skinned gentlemen who were in so much hurry to help themwin the war. 

It was dark--nearly pitch--dark at the journey's end. The moon shonenow and then through banks of black clouds, and showed long lines ofpoplar trees. Beyond, in the distance, there was a zone in whichgreat flashes leaped and died--great savage streaks of fire of manycolors--and a thundering that did not cease at all. 

Along the road that ran between the poplars two men sent theirhorses at a rousing clip, though not so fast as to tax them to theutmost. The man in front rode a brute that lacked little of seventeenhands and that fought for the bit as if he would like to eat the farhorizon. 

In the very, very dark zone, on the near side of where the splashesof red fire fell, jingling bits and a kick now and then proclaimedthe presence of a regiment of cavalry. Nothing else betrayed themuntil one was near enough to see the whites of men's eyes in thedark, for they were native Indian cavalry, who know the last master-touches of the art of being still. 

Between them and the very, very dark zone--which was what theFrenchmen call a forest, and some other nations call a stand oftimber--a little group of officers sat talking in low tones, eightEnglishmen and the others Sikhs. 

"They say they're working round the edge--say they can't hold 'em. It looks very much as if we're going to get our chance to-night. Whena red light flashes three times at this near corner of the woods, we're to ride into 'em in line--it'll mean that our chaps are fallingback in a hurry, leaving lots of room between 'em and the wood for usto ride through. Better join your men, you fellows! Oh, lord! Whatwouldn't Ranjoor Singh have given to be here! What's that?"

There came a challenge from the rear. Two horsemen cantered up. 

"Who are you? What d' you want?"

"Sahib! Colonel Kirby sahib!"

"What is it? Hallo--there are the three lights--no, two lights--that's 'Get ready!' Who are you? Why--Ranjoor Singh!"

"Salaam, sahib!"

"Shake hands. By gad--I'm glad! Find your squadron, Ranjoor Singh--find it at once, man--you're just in time. There go the three lights!_Outram's Own!--in line of squadron columns to the right--Trot, March! Right!"_

Ranjoor Singh had kept the word of babu Sita Ram, and had managed tobe with them when the first blood ran. 

THE END.