"I-I-I came to ask about a friend of mine--by name Risaldar--Major
Ranjoor Singh. I understand you know him?"

She nodded, and Kirby fought with a desire to let his mind wander.
The subtle hypnotism that the East knows how to stage and use was
creeping over him. She stood so close! She seemed so like the warm
soft spirit of all womanhood that only the measured rising and
falling of her bosom, under the gauzy drapery, made her seem human
and not a spirit. Subtly, ever so cunningly, she had contrived to
touch a chord in Colonel Kirby's heart that he did not know lived any
more. Warrington was speechless; he could not have trusted himself to
speak. She had touched another chord in him.

"He came here more than once, or so I've been given to understand,"
said Kirby, and his own voice startled him, for it seemed harsh. "He
is said to have listened to a lecture here--I was told the lecture
was delivered by a German--and there was some sort of a fracas
outside in the street afterward. I'm told some of his squadron were
near, and they thrashed a man. Now, Ranjoor Singh is missing."

"So?" said Yasmini, arching her whole lithe body into a setting for
the prettiest yawn that Kirby had ever seen. "So the Jat is missing!
Yes, he came here, sahib. He was never invited, but he came. He sat
here saying nothing until it suited him to sit where another man was;
then he struck the other man--so, with the sole of his foot--and
took the man's place, and heard what he came to hear. Later, outside
in the street, he and his men set on the Afridi whom he had struck
with his foot and beat him."