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
agree. But if Ranjoor Singh were asked about it, he would lie himself
out of it in any of a dozen ways, and would be on his guard in
future. If he were arrested, it would bring to a head what may prove
to be a passing trifle; it would make the men angry, and the news
would spread, whatever we might do to prevent it."

"What am I to understand that you want, then?" asked Kirby.