"No, but where's the other fellow?" said Max.
"What other fellow?" Nick thrust his one arm with vigour into his riding-coat.
"The chap I saw here the other night—an old chap. I came along the verandah to tell you there was someone sneaking in the compound, and he shut the window in my face. I presumed he was head-nurse or bearer, or whatever you are pleased to call them in these parts."
"Oh, that fellow!" said Nick. "Quite a venerable old chap, you mean?
Rather scraggy—not over-clean?"
"That's the man," said Max.
Nick laughed. "Great Scott! You didn't seriously, think he was my bearer, did you? No, he's an old moonstone-seller who comes to see me occasionally. He's not so disreputable as he looks. I find him handy in the matter of bazaar politics, with which I consider it useful to keep in touch."
Max received the information with a nod. His green eyes were watching
Nick's lithe movements with thoughtful intentness.
"How long is this job going to last?" he asked abruptly.
"Heaven knows," was Nick's airy response.
Max was silent a moment; then: "You will send her away if it gets too hot?" he said.