The general paced once across the room and once back again, with hands behind him. Then he stopped in front of King.
“No man in India has a stiffer task than you have now! It may encourage you to know that I realize that! She's the key to the puzzle, and she happens to be in Delhi. Go to Delhi, then. A jihad launched from the 'Hills' would mean anarchy in the plains. That would entail sending back from France an army that can't be spared. There must be no jihad, King!--There must--not--be--one! Keep that in your head!”
“What arrangements have been made with her, sir?”
“Practically none! She's watching the spies in Delhi, but they're likely to break for the 'Hills' any minute. Then they'll be arrested. When that happens the fate of India may be in your hands and hers! Get out of my way now, until tiffin-time!”
In a way that some men never learn, King proceeded to efface himself entirely among the crowd in the hall, contriving to say nothing of any account to anybody until the great gong boomed and the general led them all in to his long dining table. Yet he did not look furtive or secretive. Nobody noticed him, and he noticed everybody. There is nothing whatever secretive about that.
The fare was plain, and the meal a perfunctory affair. The general and his guests were there for other reason than to eat food, and only the man who happened to seat himself next to King--a major by the name of Hyde--spoke to him at all.
“Why aren't you with your regiment?” he asked.
“Because the general asked me to lunch, sir!”
“I suppose you've been pestering him for an appointment!”
King, with his mouth full of curry did not answer, but his eyes smiled.