“Oh yes. Once the lady learned the reason, she allowed her name to be mentioned, and we found it at once.”
“I see,” said the Pimple. “Who was the lady?”
“I don’t mind telling you in confidence,” I replied; “it was Princess Blavatsky.”
“Oh!” said the Pimple.
Then I hobbled back to my room to be abused by dear old Uncle and Pa for playing the fool with my knee, and to await results.
On January 30th the result came. Our Mess were sitting down to the regulation lunch of wheat “pillao” and duff when a sentry appeared and handed me a note demanding my presence at the office. Thinking there might be a parcel awaiting me, I nodded and indicated by signs (for in those days we knew no Turkish) that I would come as soon as lunch was over. The man got excited.
“Shindi!” (now), “Shindi!” he said. “Commandant! Commandant!”
My heart seemed to stand still. The time had come. Hickman looked at me anxiously.
“What’s up, Bones?” he asked. “Are you ill? You’ve gone white.”
“It’s my knee,” I said. “It got a twist just now.”