Presently the orderly appeared.

"Shaikh Ismail," said the Major, "go to the Mess, give my salaams to Parker
Sahib, and ask him to come here."

The sepoy, a smart young Punjabi Mussulman, clad in the white undress
of the Indian Army, saluted and strode off up the hill to the pretty
mess-bungalow of the British officers of the detachment. In it the
subaltern occupied one room.

When he received Dermot's message, this officer, a tall, good-looking man
of about twenty-eight years of age, accompanied the orderly to his senior's
quarters.

"Come in and have a smoke, Parker," said the Major cheerily.

The subaltern entered and helped himself to a cigarette from an open box on
the table before looking for a chair in the scantily-furnished room.

As he struck a match he said,

"Ismail Khan tells me you've just had trouble with that surly beast, Chand
Khan".

Dermot told him what had occurred.

"What a _soor!_ (swine!)" exclaimed Parker indignantly. "I always knew he
was a cruel devil; but I didn't think he was quite such a brute. And to
poor old Badshah too. It's a damned shame".