"If Ranjoor Singh is dead, I'm going to know it!" said Colonel
Kirby. "And if he isn't dead, I'm going to dig him out or know the
reason why. There's been foul play, Warrington. I happen to know that
Ranjoor Singh has been suspected in a certain quarter. Incidentally,
I staked my own reputation on his honesty this afternoon. And
besides, we can't afford to lose a wing commander such as he is on
the eve of the real thing. We've got to find him!"

Once or twice as they flashed by a street-lamp they were recognized
as British officers, and then natives, who would have gone to some
trouble to seem insolent a few hours before, stopped to half-turn and
salaam to them.

"Wonder how they'd like German rule for a change?" mused Warrington.

"India doesn't often wear her heart on her sleeve," said Kirby.

"It's there to-night!" said Warrington. "India's awake, if this is
Delhi and not a nightmare! India's makin' love to the British soldier-
man!"

They tore through a city that is polychromatic in the daytime and by
night a dream of phantom silhouettes. But, that night, day and night
were blended in one uproar, and the Chandni Chowk was at floodtide,
wave on wave of excited human beings pouring into it from a hundred
bystreets and none pouring out again.

So the risaldar drove across the Chandni Chowk, fighting his way
with the aid of whip and voice, and made a wide circuit through dark