The old eyes looked almost wistfully at those two men in office, but the child's were on his father's confidently:
"But it was the Royal train, wasn't it, daddy?" said the child's voice, and Horace Alexander's answered huskily:
"Perhaps it was, Rex; anyhow, you and the others did durshan. Of that I am sure."
Content settled to those two faces, the old and the young, and the ancient warrior went on--
"Then there was nothing to do, Huzoor, save to come home and bring the poisonous thing with us. I was for sending the chota sahib on in Imân's care and carrying the thing myself; but Jullunder Baba would not go without it. So Bhim and the Father took the devil's box apart lest it should kill everyone, and with Bhim's kukri they prized it open"--a faint sigh came from the Europeans--"and spilt the witches' brew in the sand. That is all, Huzoor! Your slaves did what they could. The men ran away so fast, it was not possible for us, aged ones, to pursue them."
"But," broke in the most aged, "they were dressed like the Huzoors--in trousers, and my sword was bloody, so I must have hit someone."
"And so was mine," said each of the ancient warriors in turn.
Horace Alexander cleared his throat.
"Really!" he began, "I scarcely know how to thank----"
"Daddy!" said Rex's eager voice, "I know! I'm goin' to give each of 'em my army medal with 'Wex and Imp in 'wed, and et in black on it; an' they'll be orful pleased--won't you, Army?"