“Jamrud!”
The jezailchi growled the one-word answer with one eye on King, but the other eye still squinted down the pistol barrel warily.
“Have you a letter?”
The man did not answer.
“You may speak to me. I am of your regiment. I am Captain King.”
“That is a lie, and a poor one!” the fellow answered. “But a very little while ago I spoke with King sahib in Ali Masjid Fort, and he is no cappitin, he is leftnant. Therefore thou art a liar twice over--nay, three times! Thou art no officer of Khyber Rifles! I am a jezailchi, and I know them all!”
“None the less,” said King, “I am an officer of the Khyber Rifles, newly appointed. I asked you, have you a letter?”
“Aye!”
“Let me see it.”
“Nay!”