"At last she said, 'It is well; I will not wait! I know of this
sahib. He is a man whose feet stand under him and he will not tread
my growing flowers into garbage! He will be clever enough to pick
up the end of the thread that I shall leave behind and follow it
and me! He is a true bound, with a nose that reads the wind, or
the general sahib never would have sent him!' So she left me behind,
sahib, to--to present to you the end of the thread of which she spoke."

King tossed away the stump of the cigarette and rolled his tongue
round the butt of a fresh cheroot. The word "hound" is not
necessarily a compliment in any of a thousand Eastern tongues and
gains little by translation. It might have been a slip, but the
East takes advantage of its own slips as well as of other peoples'
unless watched.

The carriage swayed at high speed round three sharp corners in
succession before the Rangar spoke again.

"She has often heard of you," he said then. That was not unlikely,
but not necessarily true either. If it were true, it did not help
to account for the puzzled look in the Rangar's eyes, that increased
rather than diminished.

"I've heard of her," said King.

"Of course! Who has not? She has desired to meet you, sahib, ever
since she was told you are the best man in your service."

King grunted, thinking of the knife beneath his shirt.