Kirby stood still, facing the mirror, with both arms behind him.

"They're certain to send native Indian troops to Europe," he said.

"We're ready, sir! We're ready to a shoe-string! We'll go first!"

"We'll be last, Warrington, supposing we go at all, unless we find
Ranjoor Singh! They'll send us to do police work in Bengal, or to
guard the Bombay docks and watch the other fellows go. I'm going to
the club. You'd better come with me. Hurry into dry clothes." He
glanced at the clock. "We'll just have time to drive past the house
where you say he's supposed to be, if you hurry."

The last three words were lost, for Captain Warrington had turned
into a thunderbolt and disappeared; the noise of his going was as
when a sudden windstorm slams all the doors at once. A moment later
he could be heard shouting from outside his quarters to his servant
to be ready for him.

He certainly bathed, for the noise of the tub overturning when he
was done with it was unmistakable. And eight minutes after his
departure he was back again, dressed, cloaked and ready.

"Got your pistol, sir?"

"Yes," said Kirby.

"Thought I'd bring mine along. You never know, you know."

Together they climbed into the colonel's dog-cart, well smothered