“Twelve words.” Rukh told Traherne, checking his count on his fingers.
“And can they really make sense out of those fireworks?” Crespin demanded a little rudely, and almost incredulously. Your Englishman always is incredulous of what he does not understand.
“I hope so—else we shall run short of champagne,” the Raja said with a laugh.
Traherne, blowing smoke-rings skilfully, knew that Rukh lied. A “show” run on such lines as this was would not get within but a few days’ supply of champagne. Dr. Traherne had understood nothing of what the keys had clicked out, but he was sure that it was something very different from what the Raja had translated—if it had been anything at all, or had gone anywhere. Dr. Traherne understood Rukh better than Rukh understood Crespin.
Watkins came into the snuggery, locked the folding door carefully, tried it, pocketed his key-ring, and turned to his master. “Any orders, Your ’Ighness?” he asked.
“No orders, Watkins,” the Raja told him lazily.
Major Antony Crespin had scored a point.
CHAPTER XXXVI
As Watkins reached the door that led into the corridor, one of the Raja’s soldiers met him, and spoke to him. Watkins nodded, and turned back.
“The ’Igh Priest is waiting to see Your ’Ighness,” he announced.