Good! That means no especial hurry for me!”      

       He did not have to return salutes, because he did not look for them. Very few people noticed him at all, although he was recognized once or twice by former messmates, and one officer stopped him with an out-stretched hand.     

       “Shake hands, you old tramp! Where are you bound for next? Tibet by any chance--or is it Samarkand this time?”      

       “Oh, hullo, Carmichel!” he answered, beaming instant good-fellowship.       “Where are you bound for?” And the other did not notice that his own question had not been answered.     

       “Bombay! Bombay--Marseilles--Brussels--Berlin!”      

       “Wish you luck!” laughed King, passing on. Every living man there, with the exception of a few staff-officers, believed himself en route for Europe; their faces said as much. Yet King took another look at the piles of stores and at the kits the men carried.     

       “Who'd take all that stuff to Europe, where they make it?” he reflected.       “And what 'u'd they use camel harness for in France?”      

       At his leisure--in his own way, that was devious and like a string of miracles--he filtered toward the telegraph office. The native who had followed him all this time drew closer, but he did not let himself be troubled by that.     

       He whispered proof of his identity to the telegraph clerk, who was a Royal Engineer, new to that job that morning, and a sealed telegram was handed to him at once. The “shadow” came very close indeed, presumably to try and read over his shoulder from behind, but he side-stepped into a corner and read the telegram with his back to the wall.     

       It was in English, no doubt to escape suspicion; and because it was war-time, and the censorship had closed on India like a throttling string, it was not in code. So the wording, all things considered, had to be ingenious, for the Mirza Ali, of the Fort, Bombay, to whom it was addressed, could scarcely be expected to read more than between the lines. The lines had to be there to read between.     

       “Cattle intended for slaughter,” it ran, “despatched Bombay on Fourteen down. Meet train. Will be inspected 

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