The Raja glanced to the Major, and Crespin echoed, “Perfectly.”
The Raja lit a fresh cigar slowly, then stood with his back to the fire. “Then,” he said leisurely, “we’ll go into committee upon your position here.”
“If you please, sir,” Crespin said.
“I’m afraid,” the Raja spoke regretfully, “you may find it rather disagreeable.”
“Communications bad, eh?” Crespin inquired more briskly than he altogether felt. “We have a difficult journey before us?”
The Raja of Rukh smoked a moment thoughtfully before he replied very, very slowly, a cryptic cold smile on his tawny face, “A long journey, I fear—yet not precisely difficult.”
CHAPTER XXVII
A cold something iced in the room. Out in the far open a bird of prey screamed exultantly. Somewhere in the palace a gong was struck, three barbaric, ominous, bellowing notes.
Rukh gave no sign that he listened, but he listened. A child was being born.
They were silent.