Jaimihr Khan threw back heavy double doors and announced, "Cap-tain Wood-house." He had the doors shut noiselessly almost before the visitor was through them.
A tall heavy-set man with graying hair and mustache rose from a broad desk at the right of a large room and advanced with hand outstretched in cordial welcome.
"Captain Woodhouse, of the signal service. Welcome to the Rock, Captain. Need you here. Glad you've come."
Woodhouse studied the face of his superior in a swift glance as he shook hands. A broad full face it was, kindly, intelligent, perhaps not so alert as to the set of eyes and mouth as it had been in younger days when the stripes of service were still to be won. General Sir George Crandall gave the impression of a man content to rest on his honors, though scrupulously attentive to the routine of his position. He motioned the younger man to draw a chair up to the desk.
"In yesterday on the Princess Mary, I presume, Captain?"
"Yes, General. Didn't report to you on arrival because I thought it would be quite tea time and I didn't want to disturb——"
"Right!" General Crandall tipped back in his swivel chair and appraised his new officer with satisfaction. "Everything quiet on the upper Nile? Germans not tinkering with the Mullah yet to start insurrection or anything like that?"
"Right as a trivet, sir," Woodhouse answered promptly. "Of course we're anticipating some such move by the enemy—agents working in from Erythrea—holy war of a sort, perhaps, but I think our people have things well in hand."
"And at Wady Halfa, your former commander——" The general hesitated.
"Major Bronson-Webb, sir," Woodhouse was quick to supply, but not without a sharp glance at the older man.