"You know as much as I do. I leave in the morning for Benares. At the hotel I'm to meet a fellow called Kerth—"
"Euan Kerth," Manlove interrupted, his eyes upon the document. "You've heard of him, haven't you? He's the best of his sort in India. He's been in Tibet; was one of Younghusband's interpreters in nineteen-four. Speaks Hindustani, Burmese, mandarin Chinese, Tibetan, and God knows what else! You and he ought to hit it off fairly well together. But go on."
"I'm to meet him at the hotel," Trent resumed. "Just what part he plays, I don't know yet. There I'm also to find a message from this Swaying Cobra woman, and meet her at a place named in the message. And—well, that's all." He smiled. "Enlightening, isn't it?"
As he finished, Manlove strode to the door and tossed away his cigarette. There he paused, peering out.
"Where's Ganeesh?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.
"I let him go for the evening. Why?"
"Just saw some one leave the compound; must have been he." Manlove returned to his chair. "Trent, I envy you—even if they are balmy at Delhi. This doctoring heathens isn't all it's colored up to be. It's getting on my nerves. I even dream about fever and stinking fakirs."
Trent consulted his wrist-watch. "I have to ride up to Colonel Urqhart's and make a report. Remember the chap at Meera, Chatterjee? Some hakim burned his child's stomach with an iron. Of course she died. I'm going to make an example of him." He rose. "I have to wash up a bit. I suppose you're going to the lawn party?"
"Think not," decided Manlove. "I'll be here when you return."
"Care to ride up with me?"