"Has he a well-equipped caravan?"
"Two mules, a gun and a blanket."
"How extraordinary!" Sir Lionel stared at his niece. "No camels?"
"Not one." Mary yawned, and, with a glance at the clock, began to unbind her heavy hair. It was very late. Her fingers worked dexterously, while Sir Lionel weighed her words. Unlike his niece, he was an individual of slow mental process, perhaps too much schooled by routine.
"Mary! How did you—ah—behave to Captain Gray?"
"I took him prisoner." The girl smiled mischievously. "He was so humiliated, Uncle Singh."
"I hope," observed Sir Lionel severely, "you warned him of our identity."
"Rather. But he implied he was after big game."
Sir Lionel reached to the light stand and secured a cigarette, which he lit. His eyes hardened purposefully.
"I'll trek for Ansichow, at once. I must buy up all the available camels. If you will retire to your tent, and send my syce——"