The Raja laughed. “Oh,” he said easily, “a relic of barbarism, I know. I can quite understand the contempt with which my friend the Major is at this moment regarding them.”
Hearing him Crespin joined them too. “Irregular troops, Raja,” he said; “often first-class fighting men.”
“And you think,” the Raja said quickly, “that, if irregularity is the virtue of irregular troops, these—what is the expression, Watkins?”
“Tyke the cyke, Your ’Ighness,” the expatriated cockney supplied—but he kept his distance.
“That’s it—take the cake—that’s what you think, Major?”
“Well,” Crespin owned, too taking his cue and tone from the cosmopolitan Raja’s own, “they would be hard to beat, sir.”
“I repeat,” the ruler said gravely, “a relic of barbarism. You see, I have strong conservative instincts—I cling to the fashions of my fathers—and my people would be restive if I didn’t. I maintain these fellows as his Majesty the King-Emperor keeps up the Beefeaters in the Tower. But I also like to move with the times, as perhaps you will allow me to show you.” He lifted the silver whistle that hung at his coat, and blew on it two short blasts.
Instantly from behind every rock and shrub—from every bit of possible cover—there emerged a soldier, garbed in spick and span European uniform—almost identical with the uniform of a crack regiment of Imperial Russia—and faultlessly armed with the latest brand of magazine rifle. They saluted their prince, and then stood, their eyes on him, as immovable as statues at attention.
“Good Lord!” and Crespin added an involuntary whistle; and Traherne as involuntarily gasped, “Hallo!” But, if the Englishwoman shared their amazement she did not show it. She looked at the up-sprung troops quite calmly and casually. That surprised the Raja, and pleased him—quickened him even. There is no other quality that appeals to the high caste Oriental as inscrutability and imperturbability do—qualities of soul and of breeding that echo his own, and to which his own answer. He did not like Europeans, except an old friend or two of his English varsity days. But he felt that he could, if opportunity served, like this Englishwoman—and the Raja of Rukh was accustomed and skilled to swing opportunity into his line. He said to her concernedly, “I trust I did not startle you, Madam?”
“Oh, not at all,” she told him. “I am not nervous,” and she looked him frankly and squarely in the eyes, as she sat carelessly down again on her seat of cushions.