his expression whether he believed or not.
“Let's make a move,” he said, turning to Saunders. “She seems at any rate to wish it believed she has gone North. I can't stay here indefinitely. If she's here she's on the watch here, and there's no need of me. If she has gone North, then that is where the kites are wheeling! I'll take the early morning train. Where are the prisoners?”
“In the old Mir Khan Palace. We were short of jail room and had to improvise. The horse-stalls there have come in handy more than once before. Shall we take this gharry?”
With Ismail up beside the driver nursing King's bag and looking like a great grim vulture about to eat the horse, they drove back through swarming streets in the direction of the river. King seemed to have lost all interest in crowds. He scarcely even troubled to watch when they were held up at a cross-roads by a marching regiment that tramped as if it were herald of the Last Trump, with bayonets glistening in the street lights. He sat staring ahead in silence, although Saunders made more than one effort to engage him in conversation.
“No!” he said at last suddenly--so that Saunders jumped.
“No what?”
“No need to stay here. I've got what I came for!”
“What was that?” asked Saunders, but King was silent again. Conscious of the unaccustomed weight on his left wrist, he moved his arm so that the sleeve drew and he could see the edge of the great gold bracelet Rewa Gunga had given him in Yasmini's name.
“Know anything of Rewa Gunga?” he asked suddenly again.
“The Rangar?”
“Yes, the Rangar. Yasmini's man.”
“Not much. I've seen him. I've spoken with him, and I've had to stand impudence from him--twice. I've been tipped off more than once to let him alone because he's her man. He does ticklish errands for her, or so they say. He's what you might call 'known to the police' all right.”
They began to approach an age-old palace near the river, and Saunders whispered a pass-word when an armed guard halted them. They were halted again at
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