“No. Set me down in the Chandni Chowk. I’ll tell you where to stop.”
“Man alive, you can’t go scouting in a dinner jacket!”
“Why not?” Ommony asked obstinately.
McGregor did not answer.
Ommony spoke his mind in jerky sentences.
“To-morrow morning—this morning, I mean, be a good chap—pack my things at the hotel—forward them all to Tilgaun. Send some one you can trust. Let him leave them with Miss Sanburn—bring back a receipt to you.”
“Money?” asked McGregor, nodding.
“Plenty. If I need more I’ll cash drafts on Chutter Chand.”
“What name will you sign on them? I’d better warn him, hadn’t I?”
“No need. I’ll make a mark on the drafts that he’ll recognize.”