“Hail that man and bring him here!” he ordered.
Ismail, keeping his distance with ears and eyes peeled, heard instantly and hurried off. He went like the wind and all three watched in silence for ten minutes while he headed off a man near the mouth of the Pass, stopped him, spoke to him and brought him along. Fifteen minutes later an Afridi stood scowling in front of them with a little letter in a cleft stick in his hand. He held it out and Courtenay took it and sniffed.
“Well--I'll be blessed! A note”--sniff--sniff--“on scented paper!” Sniff--sniff! “Carried down the Khyber in a split stick! Take it, King--it's addressed to you.”
King obeyed and sniffed too. It smelt of something far more subtle than musk. He recognized the same strange scent that had been wafted from behind Yasmini's silken hangings in her room in Delhi. As he unfolded the note--it was not sealed--he found time for a swift glance at Rewa Gunga's face. The Rangar seemed interested and amused.
“Dear Captain King,” the note ran, in English. “Kindly
be quick to follow me, because there is much talk of a
lashkar getting ready for a raid. I shall wait for
you in Khinjan, whither my messenger shall show the way.
Please let him keep his rifle. Trust him, and Rewa
Gunga and my thirty whom you brought with you. The
messenger's name is Darya Khan.
“Your servant,
“Ysamini.”
He passed the note to Courtenay, who read it and passed it back.
“Are you the messenger who is to show this sahib the road to Khinjan?” he asked.
“Aye!”
“But you are one of three who left here and went up the Pass at dawn! I recognize you.”
“Aye!” said the man. “She met me and gave me this letter and sent me back.”