“Advices are Yasmini was in Delhi as recently as six
this evening. Fail to understand your inability to
get in touch. Have you tried at her house? Matters
in Khyber district much less satisfactory. Word from
O-C Khyber Rifles to effect that lashkar is collecting.
Better sweep up in Delhi and proceed northward as quickly
as compatible with caution. L. M. L.”
The three letters at the end were the general's coded signature. The wording of the telegram was such that as he read King saw a mental picture of the general's bald red skull and could almost hear him say the “fail to understand.” The three words “much less satisfactory” were a bookful of information. So, as he folded up the telegram, tore the penciled strip of figures from the top and burned it with a match, he was at pains to look pleased.
“Good news?” asked Saunders, blowing smoke through his nose.
“Excellent. Where's my man? Here--you--Ismail!”
The giant came and towered above him.
“You swore she went North!”
“Ha, sahib! To Peshawur she went!”
“Did she start from this station?”
“From where else, sahib?”
But this was too much for Saunders, who stepped forward and thrust in an oar. King on the other hand stepped back a pace so as to watch both faces.