my throat if I said he is a drunkard! I said--I meant to say--seeing
she is Yasmini, and he having been to see her once--and being again
in a great hurry--whither goes he?"

So the squadron chose a sub-committee of inquiry, seven strong, that
being a lucky number the wide world over, and the movements of the
risaldar-major were reported one by one to the squadron with the
infinite exactness of small detail that seems so useless to all save
Easterns.

Fifteen minutes after he had left his quarters, no longer in khaki
uniform, but dressed as a Sikh gentleman, the whole squadron knew the
color of his undershirt, also that he had hired a _tikka-gharri_, and
that his only weapon was the ornamental dagger that a true Sikh wears
twisted in his hair. One after one, five other men reported him nearly
all the way through Delhi, through the Chandni Chowk--where the last
man but one nearly lost him in the evening crowd--to the narrow place
where, with a bend in the street to either hand, is Yasmini's.

The last man watched him through Yasmini's outer door and up the
lower stairs before hurrying back to the squadron. And a little later
on, being almost as inquisitive as they were careful for their major,
the squadron delegated other men, in mufti, to watch for him at the
foot of Yasmini's stairs, or as near to the foot as might be, and see
him safely home again if they had to fight all Asia on the way.

These men had some money with them, and weapons hidden underneath
their clothes; for, having betted largely on the quail-fight at
Abdul's stables, the squadron was in funds.