When Faiz Ullah reported all things ready, Scott settled down at full length, coatless and bootless, on the broad leather-covered bunk. The heat under the iron-arched roof of the station might have been anything over a hundred degrees. At the last moment Martyn entered, dripping.
“Don’t swear,” said Scott, lazily; “it’s too late to change your carriage; and we’ll divide the ice.”
“What are you doing here?” said the police-man.
“I’m lent to the Madras Government, same as you. By Jove, it’s a bender of a night! Are you taking any of your men down?”
“A dozen. I suppose I shall have to superintend relief distributions. Didn’t know you were under orders too.”
“I didn’t till after I left you last night. Raines had the news first. My orders came this morning. McEuan relieved me at four, and I got off at once. Shouldn’t wonder if it wouldn’t be a good thing—this famine—if we come through it alive.”
“Jimmy ought to put you and me to work together,” said Martyn; and then, after a pause: “My sister’s here.”
“Good business,” said Scott, heartily. “Going to get off at Umballa, I suppose, and go up to Simla. Who’ll she stay with there?”
“No-o; that’s just the trouble of it. She’s going down with me.”
Scott sat bolt upright under the oil-lamps as the train jolted past Tarn-Taran. “What! You don’t mean you couldn’t afford—”