"So you have come to me—British Agent and Consul-General—to ask if I will connive at your prisoner's escape! Is that it?"
The Sirdar flinched, bit the ends of his moustache for a moment, and then said, with a faint tremor in his voice—
"Nuneham, if the prisoner is handed over to the authorities he will be court-martialled."
"Let it be so," said the Consul-General.
"As surely as he is court-martialled his sentence will be death."
The old man swung his chair back and answered huskily: "If his offences deserve it, what matter is that to me?"
"His offences," said the Sirdar, "were insubordination, refusal to obey the orders of his General, and——"
"Isn't that enough?" asked the Consul-General, whereupon the Sirdar drew himself up and said—
"I plead no excuses for insubordination. I am myself a soldier. I think discipline is the backbone of the army. Without that everything must fall into chaos. But the General who exacts stern compliance with military discipline on the part of his officers has it for his sacred duty to see that his commands are just and that he does not provoke disobedience by outrageous and illegal insults."
The old man's face twitched visibly, but still he stood firm.