Long, long after midnight, in a final burst of imagination, he likened Germany to a bee—hive from which a swarm must soon emerge for lack of room inside. And he proved, then, that he knew he had made an impression on them, for he dismissed them with an impudence that would have set them laughing at him when he first began to speak.
"Ye have my leave to go!" he said, as if he owned the place; and they all went except one.
"That is a lot of talk," said Ranjoor Singh, when the last man had started for the stairs. "What does it amount to? When will the bees swarm?"
The German eyed him keenly, but the Sikh's eyes did not flinch.
"What is your rank?" the German asked.
"Squadron leader!"
"Oh!"
The two stood up, and now there was no mistake about the German's heels; they clicked. The two were almost of a height, although the Sikh's head—dress made him seem the taller. They were both unusually fine—looking men, and limb for limb they matched.
"If war were in Europe you would be taken there to fight," said the
German.
Ranjoor Singh showed no surprise.