was normal again with the punkah swinging slowly overhead, except
that the seductive smell remained, that was like the early-morning
breath of all the different flowers of India.

"If she were here," said the Rangar, a little grimly--with a trace
of disappointment in his tone--"you would not snatch your eyes away
like that! You would have been jolly well transfixed, my friend!
These--she--that woman--they are but clumsy amateurs! If she were
here, to dance with her snakes for you, you would have been jolly
well dancing with her, if she had wished it! Perhaps you shall see
her dance some day! Ah,--here is Ismail," he added in an altered
tone of voice. He seemed relieved at sight of the Afridi.

Bursting through the glass-bead curtains at the door, the great
savage strode down the room, holding out a telegram. Rewa Gunga
looked as if he would have snatched it, but King's hand was held
out first and Ismail gave it to him. With a murmur of conventional
apology King tore the envelope and in a second his eyes were ablaze
with something more than wonder. A mystery, added to a mystery,
stirred all the zeal in him. But in a second he had sweated his
excitement down.

"Read that, will you?" he said, passing it to Rewa Gunga. It was
not in cypher, but in plain everyday English.

"She has not gone North," it ran. "She is still in Delhi. Suit
your own movements to your plans."

"Can you explain?" asked King in a level voice. He was watching
the Rangar narrowly, yet he could not detect the slightest symptom