"It's me, Uncle Singh," she called, not quite grammatically. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," a kindly voice answered at once. "Anything wrong?"
A man sat up on the cot, snapping on an electric torch by the head of the bed and glancing at a small clock. He was a tall, spare individual, with the frame of an athlete, polo shoulders, and the high brow of a scholar.
He was well past middle age, yellow-brown as to face, deep hollows under the cheek bones, his scanty hair matching his face, except where it was streaked with white.
The girl installed herself snugly on the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged.
"You've been sleeping heavily, Sher Singh," she observed reproachfully, giving the man his native surname, "and that means you aren't well. I have news." She paused triumphantly, then bubbled spontaneously into speech.
"Such news. Aie. Captain Robert Gray is here, in Ram Singh's tent. He is alone, with a servant. He is a big man, not ill-looking, but awkward—very. He stands so much on his dignity. Really, it was quite ridiculous"—she laughed agreeably—"and I was very nicely entertained. He was brought in by the Sikhs, after trying to steal our ponies——"
"Lifting our horses!" Sir Lionel sat bolt upright and flushed. "Why, the scoundrel——"
"I mean his servant was. Captain Gray was innocent, but I was not inclined to let him off easily——"
Mary's conception of important news did not satisfy the explorer's desire for facts. A peculiarly jealous expression crept into the man's open face.