Bronzed by the tropic sun, his face was recognizable only by the assured glance of his eye. An Afghan bernous was thrown back from his head and shoulders, while his commanding figure was draped in a long chibuok. A pair of pistols and a curved yasmak were in his belt.
"So you got to Wazuchistan all right," said the Premier quietly.
"I went in by way of the Barooda," said Powers. "For many days I was unable to cross it. The waters of the river were wild and swollen with rains. To cross it seemed certain death——"
"But at last you got over," said the Premier, "and then——"
"I struck out over the Fahuri desert. For days and days, blinded by the sun, and almost buried in sand, I despaired."
"But you got through it all right. And after that?"
"My first care was to disguise myself. Staining myself from head to foot with betel nut——"
"To look like a beetle," said the Premier. "Exactly. And so you got to Wazuchistan. Where is it and what is it?"
"My lord," said Powers, drawing himself up and speaking with emphasis, "I got to where it was thought to be. There is no such place!"
The whole Cabinet gave a start of astonishment.