“May God be with thee!” growled each of them.
They stood still then, awaiting fresh developments. It did not seem to occur to any one of them as strange that a British officer in khaki uniform should be sporting Yasmini's talisman; the thing was apparently sufficient explanation in itself.
“Ye all know this?” he asked, holding up his wrist. “Whose is this?”
“Hers!”
The answer was monosyllabic and instant from all thirty throats. “May Allah guard her, sleeping and awake!” added one or two of them.
King lit a cheroot and made mental note of the wisdom of referring to her by pronoun, not by name.
“And I? Who am I?” he asked, since it saves worlds of trouble to have the other side state the case. The Secret Service was not designed for giving information, but discovering it.
“Her messenger! Who else? Thou art he who shall take us to the 'Hills'! She promised!”
“How did she know ye were in this jail?” he asked them, and one of the Hillmen laughed like a jackal, showing yellow eye-teeth. The others cackled in chorus after him.
“Answer that riddle thyself--or else ask her! Who are we? Bats, that can see in the night? Spirits, who can hear through walls? Nay, we be plain men of the mountains!”