The Sheikh permitted a look of surprise to become evident. “Why not? Does not the Commissioner Sahib know that Kīlin Sahib has changed the face of the border, making peace where once was war, and plenty where there was perpetual famine? The name of Kīlin Sahib and his regiment is known wherever the Khemistan Horse can go—and where is it that they cannot go?”
“And do I understand that you have been of assistance to Major Keeling in this work of his?”
“Surely. Is not Kīlin Sahib the channel through which the Company’s bounty flows to me? Has he not treated me as a friend, and shown himself a friend to me?”
“Then in what way have you helped him?”
The Sheikh stroked his beard, perhaps to conceal a smile. “I have bidden my disciples obey him in all things as though he were myself.”
“Oh—ah”—Mr Crayne was baffled again—“is it or is it not a fact that there is a great personal likeness between Major Keeling and yourself?”
“It may be. I have heard as much,” was the indifferent answer.
“Is there—are you aware of any relationship that would account for it?”
The Sheikh’s eyes blazed. “My house is of the pure blood of the sons of Salih, from the mountains above Es Shams [Damascus], and of Ali the Lion of God; and all men know the descent of Kīlin Sahib. Was not his father the great Jān Kīlin Bahadar of the regiment called Kīlin Zarss [Keeling’s Horse], who, after the death of his Mem vowed never to speak a word to a woman again, and kept his vow, as all men bear witness? It has pleased Allah to make two men—one from the East and one from the West—as like one another as though they were brothers born at one time of the same mother, and who shall presume to account for His will?”
“Quite so, quite so,” agreed Mr Crayne. “No insult was intended. Then you imply that a considerable amount of Major Keeling’s success on this frontier is due to you?”