At the end of those two days Mr. Scarlett began to show signs of returning consciousness, and Percy, who had not left him day or night, wept tears of joy when his eyes opened and he asked where he was.
Popple Opstein was now allowed to come and talk to me.
From him I heard how the Intrepid had been called away from Muscat, on what turned out to be a wild-goose chase, after some dhow reported to be loading rifles down the coast; how she had heard on her return that Jask telegraph-station had been attacked in force and the telegraph cut; and how she had come across at full speed.
"I'm almost certain Jassim was the chap who brought the news which took us down the coast. We heard he'd shot you dangerously, and I put two and two together. My dear old chap, I was in the dickens of a funk. The skipper had the men all ready waiting to land; they were over the side and in the boats almost before the anchor dropped, and we were only just in time. Your fellows were all pushed up against the side of the building, with a crowd of chaps howling round them, and were getting the worst of it, half of them laid out already. Another half-hour and it would have been 'finish'."
He gave me a list of the casualties, and they were very severe. Jones had died of his wounds, and Moore's body had been found on the rocks close to the smashed dinghy, with three dead Afghans near him; so the poor, irritating chap had made a great fight for his life. There was not a single one of the "B.A."'s who had not a wound of "sorts".
Mrs. Fisher had come ashore from the "B.A.", but her nerves were so completely shaken that she intended to go down to Karachi very shortly. Miss Borsen was to accompany her. Both of them visited me occasionally, but always together, and I was longing for the day to come when Nicholson would give me permission to talk, because I had much to tell the little, sad, grey-eyed lady, and much, very much, to ask her. At last came the great day when I was allowed to sit out on the veranda and talk—just a little—as long as I did not raise my voice. By this time Mr. Scarlett was very nearly his old self, or, rather, his new self, once more; and Percy was so happy that we had to make the head boy kick him—half a dozen times a day—to stop him singing to himself. We now had crowds of visitors, from Commander Duckworth, Mr. Fisher (his shoulder nearly well), and Popple Opstein, down to Jaffa, clean and white and as impenetrable as ever. The one I wanted most was Miss Borsen, but she seldom came, and then only with Mrs. Fisher. As I recovered, so she seemed to shrink from coming near me, and I counted the days before she was to sail for Karachi in fear lest I should never have a chance of speaking to her alone.
One evening, as Mr. Scarlett and I were sitting on the veranda, watching the last glow of the sunset on the Baluchistan mountains, Popple Opstein came bounding up the stairs and out to us.
"We've just got the news!" he cried excitedly. "There's going to be a great 'show' here. The Indian Government is sending a whole brigade from Karachi, the Persian Government has ordered round the old Persepolis with a lot of troops, the flagship's on her way from Bombay, and we're going to land a naval brigade—with guns. There's to be a regular expedition into the mountains to punish those Afghans, and who d'you think is going in charge of the guns? Why, you, old chap, you! The skipper has just sent me along to tell you the great news. The Indian Government has asked for you. Just fancy that! It's a reward for collaring that caravan. 'Nick' says you'll be as fit as ever by the time everything's ready to start. I am so glad, old chap, and you bet I'll find some excuse for coming along as well, even if it's only to carry old Nick's 'first-aid' bag."
"What a ripping show!" I said, tremendously pleased, and Mr. Scarlett came over to congratulate me, as pleased as I was.
My chum fidgeted about, and although it was now too dark for me to see his face I knew that he had something else to tell me.