Winds of the World | Page 9

know we're ready for 'em. They want to fight
because they think they can catch us napping; they'd think twice if they
knew they couldn't do it."
"Are they blind and deaf? Can't they see and hear?"
"_Quern deus vult perdere, prius dementat_, Ponsonby, my boy."
The man in drab silk slipped into a chair next to Kirby's as a wolf slips
into his lair, very circumspectly, and without noise; then he rutched the
chair sidewise toward Kirby with about as much noise as a company of
infantry would make.
"Had a drink?" he asked, as Kirby looked up from his paper. "Have
one?"
"Ginger ale, please," said Kirby, putting the paper down.
A turbaned waiter brought long glasses in which ice tinkled, and the
two sipped slowly, not looking at each other.
"Know Yasmini?" asked the man in drab silk suddenly.
"Heard of her, of course."
"Ever see her?"
"No."
"Ah! Most extraordinary woman. Wonderful!"
Kirby looked puzzled, and held his peace.
"Any of your officers ever visit her?"
"Not when they're supposed to be on duty."
"But at other times?"

"None of my affair if they do. Don't know, I'm sure."
"Um-m-m!"
"Yes," said Kirby, without vehemence.
"Look at his beak!" said one of the two men by the window. "Never see
a big bird act that way? Look at his bright eye!"
"Wish mine were as bright, and my beak as aquiline; means directness
--soldierly directness, that does!"
"Who is your best native officer, supposing you've any choice?" asked
the man in the drab silk suit, speaking to the ceiling apparently.
"Ranjoor Singh," said Kirby promptly.
It was quite clear there was no doubt in his mind.
"How is he best? In what way?"
"Best man I've got. Fit to command the regiment."
"Um-m-m!"
"Yes," said Kirby.
The man in drab sat sidewise and caught Kirby's eye, which was not
difficult. There was nothing furtive about him.
"With a censorship that isn't admitted, but which has been rather
obvious for more than a month; with all forces undergoing field
training during the worst of the rains--it's fair to suppose your men
smell something?"
"They've been sweating, certainly."
"Do they smell a rat?"

"Yes."
"Ask questions?"
"Yes."
"What do you tell them?"
"That I don't know, and they must wait until I do."
"Any recent efforts been made to tamper with them?"
"Not more than I reported. You know, of course, of the translations
from Canadian papers, discussing the rejection of Sikh immigrants?
Each man received a copy through the mail."
"Yes. We caught the crowd who printed that. Couldn't discover, though,
how it got into the regiment's mail bags without being postmarked.
Let's see--wasn't Ranjoor Singh officer-of-the-day?"
"Yes."
"Um-m-m! Would it surprise you to know that Ranjoor Singh visits
Yasmini?"
"Wouldn't interest me."
"What follows is in strict confidence, please."
"I'm listening."
"I want you to hear reason. India, the whole of India, mind, has its ear
to the ground. All up and down the length of the land--in every
bazaar--in the ranks of every native regiment--it's known that people
representing some other European Power are trying to sow discontent
with our rule; and it's obvious to any native that we're on the watch for
something big that we expect to break any minute. Is that clear?"
"Yes."

"Our strongest card is the loyalty of the native troops."
"Yes."
"Everybody knows that. Also, this thing we're looking for is most
damnably real--might burst to-day, to-morrow--any time. So, even with
the censorship in working order, it wouldn't be wise to arrest a native
officer merely on suspicion."
"I'd arrest one of mine," said Kirby, "if I had any reason to suspect him
for a second."
"Wouldn't be wise! You mustn't!" The man in drab silk shook his head.
"Now, suppose you were to arrest Ranjoor Singh--"
Kirby laughed outright.
"Suppose the Chandni Chowk were Regent Street!" he jeered.
"Last night," said the man in drab silk, "Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh
visited Yasmini, leaving six or more of the men of his squadron waiting
for him in the street outside. In Yasmini's room he listened for hours to
a lecture on Germany, delivered by a German who has British
naturalization papers, whether forged or not is not yet clear.
"After the lecture he had a private conversation lasting some minutes
with the German who says he is an Englishman, and who, by the way,
speaks Hindustani like a native. And, before he started home, his men
who waited in the street thrashed an Afridi within an inch of his life for
threatening to report Ranjoor Singh's presence at the lecture to the
authorities."
"Who told you this?" asked Colonel Kirby.
"The Afridi, Yasmini, and three hillmen who were there by invitation. I
spoke with them all less than an hour ago. They all