that throws keen inquirers off a scent.

"Colonel sahib, since I was a little butcha not as high as your knee
I have spoken English and sat at the feet of British officers. Little
enough I know, but by the beard of God's prophet I know this: when
a British colonel sahib speaks of 'immediate purposes,' there are
hidden purposes of greater importance!"

"That well may be," said Monty gravely. "I remember you always were
a student of significant details, Rustum Khan."

"There was a time when I was in your honor's confidence."

Monty smiled.

"That was years ago. What are you doing here, Rustum Khan?"

"A fair enough question! I hang my head. As you know, sahib, I
am a rangar. My people were all Sikhs for several generations back.
We converts to Islam are usually more thorough-going than born Moslems
are. I started to make the pilgrimage to Mecca, riding overland
alone by way of Persia. As I came, missing few opportunities to
talk with men, who should have been the lights of my religion, I
have felt enthusiasm waning. These weeks past I have contemplated
return without visiting Mecca at all. I have wandered to and fro,
hoping for the fervor back again, yet finding none. And now, sahib,
I find you--I, Rustum Khan, at a loose end for lack of inspiration.
I have prayed. Colonel sahib bahadur, I believe thou art the gift
of God!"'