"Not yet. It says, 'War likely to be general. Be ready.' Here, read it for yourself."
"They wouldn't have sent us that if—"
"Addressed to O.C. troops. They had those ready written out and sent one to every O.C. on the list the second they knew."
"Well, sir?"
"Leave the room, Lal Singh!"
The servant, who was screwing up his courage to edge nearer, did as he was told.
Kirby stood still, facing the mirror, with both arms behind him.
"They're certain to send native Indian troops to Europe," he said.
"We're ready, sir! We're ready to a shoe-string! We'll go first!"
"We'll be last, Warrington, supposing we go at all, unless we find Ranjoor Singh! They'll send us to do police work in Bengal, or to guard the Bombay docks and watch the other fellows go. I'm going to the club. You'd better come with me. Hurry into dry clothes." He glanced at the clock. "We'll just have time to drive past the house where you say he's supposed to be, if you hurry."