if he would have snatched it, but King's hand was held out first and Ismail gave it to him. With a murmur of conventional apology King tore the envelope and in a second his eyes were ablaze with something more than wonder. A mystery, added to a mystery, stirred all the zeal in him. But in a second he had sweated his excitement down.
“Read that, will you?” he said, passing it to Rewa Gunga. It was not in cypher, but in plain everyday English.
“She has not gone North,” it ran. “She is still in Delhi. Suit your own movements to your plans.”
“Can you explain?” asked King in a level voice. He was watching the Rangar narrowly, yet he could not detect the slightest symptom of emotion.
“Explain?” said the Rangar. “Who can explain foolishness? It means that another fat general has made another fat mistake!”
“What makes you so certain she went North?” King asked.
Instead of answering, Rewa Gunga beckoned Ismail, who had stepped back out of hearing. The giant came and loomed over them like the Spirit of the Lamp of the Arabian Nights.
“Whither went she?” asked the Rangar.
“To the North!” he boomed.
“How knowest thou?”
“I saw her go!”
“When went she?”
“Yesterday, when a telegram came.”
The word “came” was the only clue to his meaning, for in the language he used “yesterday” and “to-morrow” are the same word; such is the East's estimate of time.
“By what route did she go?” asked Rewa Gunga.
“By the terrain from the station.”
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