“Not in India,” Watkins said quickly—too quickly, Dr. Traherne thought. “We might ’ave met in England, but I don’t call to mind having that pleasure.”
Crespin was too angry at that impertinence to allow himself to notice it, and only said, “But, if you haven’t been in India, how the hell did you get here?”
“I came with ’Is ’Ighness, sir, by way of Tashkent,” Watkins explained glibly—but Traherne thought that he said it anxiously too. “All our dealings with Europe is by way of Russia.”
“I daresay,” Crespin grunted, not too wisely.
“But it’s possible to get to India direct,” Traherne broke in, “and not by way of central Asia?”
“Oh, yes, it’s done, sir,” Watkins admitted; “but I’m told there are some very tight places to negotiate—like the camel and the needle’s eye, as you might say.”
“Difficult traveling for a lady, eh?” Traherne asked it, knowing the answer, but he wished to keep the man talking, on the chance of even one useful word that might be let slip; and he thought the prompting safer in his hands than in Crespin’s.
“Next door to himpossible, I should guess, sir,” the man said promptly.
Crespin groaned. “A nice lookout, Traherne!” Then he turned to Watkins, with, “Tell me, my man—is His Highness—h’m—married?”
Watkins permitted himself a respectful smile. “Oh, yessir—very much so, sir.”