stories made in Germany for them to take back to the 'Hills' with 'em. The tribes'll know presently how many men we're sending oversea. There've been rumors about Khinjan by the hundred lately. They're cooking something. Can you imagine 'em keeping quiet now?”
“That depends, sir. Yes, I can imagine it.”
The general laughed. “That's why I sent for you. I need a man with imagination! There's a woman you've got to work with on this occasion who can imagine a shade or two too much. What's worse, she's ambitious. So I chose you to work with her.”
King's lips stiffened under his mustache, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled into crow's-feet to correspond. Eyes are never coal-black, of course, but his looked it at that minute.
“You know we've sent men to Khinjan who are said to have entered the Caves. Not one of 'em has ever returned.”
King frowned.
“She claims she can enter the Caves and come out again at pleasure. She has offered to do it, and I have accepted.”
It would not have been polite to look incredulous, so King's expression changed to one of intense interest a little overdone, as the general did not fail to notice.
“If she hadn't given proof of devotion and ability, I'd have turned her down. But she has. Only the other day she uncovered a plot in Delhi--about a million dynamite bombs in a ruined temple in charge of a German agent for use by mutineers supposed to be ready to rise against us. Fact! Can you guess who she is?”
“Not Yasmini?” King hazarded, and the general nodded and flicked his whip. The horse mistook it for a signal, and it was two minutes before the speed was reduced to mere recklessness.
The helmet-strap mark, printed indelibly on King's jaw and cheek by the Indian sun, tightened and grew whiter--as the general noted out of the corner of his eye.
“Know her?”
“Know of her, of course, sir. Everybody does. Never met her to my knowledge.”
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