"Present my compliments to Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh sahib, and
ask him to be good enough to see me here."

The servant saluted and was gone. Kirby relapsed again into the
depth of the chair, staring at the wall in front of him, letting his
eye travel from one to another of the accurately spaced-out pictures,
pieces of furniture and trophies that proclaimed him unmarried. There
was nothing whatever in his quarters to decoy him from his love.
There were polo sticks in a corner where a woman would have placed a
standard lamp, and where the flowers should have stood was a chest to
hold horse-medicines. There was a vague smell about the place of
varnish, polish and good leather.

The servant was back again, stiff at the salute, within five minutes.

"_Ne hai_."

"Not there? Not where? Not in his quarters? Then go and find him.
Ask where he is. Hurry!"

So, since the regiment was keyed to watchfulness, it took about five
minutes more before it was known that Ranjoor Singh was not in
barracks. The servant returned to report that he had been seen
driving toward the bazaar in a _tikka-gharri_.

Then entered Warrington, the adjutant, and the servant was dismissed
at once.

"Bad business," said Warrington, looking thoroughly cheerful.