“Naturally,” the English physician admitted.
“You don’t guess?” the Raja persisted.
“We have been trying to,” Traherne said frankly. “The only thing—” he hesitated, almost as if apologizing for so far-fetched a suggestion, “we could think of was that you must be in wireless communication?”
Was that wise? Crespin wondered; and Lucilla was appalled. But Dr. Traherne had weighed his words well—and if he had spent fewer years in Asia than the English soldier had, he was the deeper versed, the better skilled in human psychology.
“You observed nothing to confirm the idea?” Rukh insinuated, watching Traherne narrowly, watching them all.
Dr. Traherne shook his head densely. “Why no,” he affirmed.
“Did you not notice that the lights suddenly went down?”
“Yes,” Traherne owned promptly, but still clearly at sea, “and at the same time we heard a peculiar hissing sound.”
“None of you knew what it meant?”
“No.” The doctor made the admission as if half-ashamed of it. No mere Englishman—as Rukh perfectly knew—cares to be found lacking in omniscience itself, let alone average intelligence (one reason perhaps of the old dislike that the English once bore the quicker French).