Nicholson laughed with an almost boyish mirth.
“By gad,” he cried, “you are fortunate in your friends, Malcolm.” Then he turned to Chumru again. “The jaghir is of no mean size,” he said, “but I shall see to it that a field is added for every useful fact you make known.”
Frank listened to his servant’s enumeration of the guns and troops at the Lahore, Mori, and Cashmere Gates, and he was surprised at the accuracy of Chumru’s mental note-taking.
“I need not have gone at all, sir,” he could not help commenting when the bearer had answered Nicholson’s final question. “I seem to have a Napoleon for a valet.”
The brigadier laid a kindly hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“You forget that you have brought me the most important news of all,” he said. “The enemy is defeated before the first ladder is planted against their walls. They know it, and, thanks to you, now we know it. My only remaining difficulty is not to take Delhi, but to screw up our Chief to make the effort.”
Then his voice sank to a deep growl.
“But I’ll bring him to reason, I will, by Heaven, even if I risk being cashiered for insubordination!”