It took about half an hour, and when I returned home and put Gay-Neck in his nest, I could not find Jahore anywhere. His nest, alas, was empty. And when I went up to the roof there I found Jahore's wife sitting on the parapet scanning every direction of the sky for a sign of her husband. Not only did she spend that day, but two or three more in the same manner. I wonder if she found any consolation in the fact that her husband sacrificed himself for the sake of a brave comrade. CHAPTER III MATING OF GAY-NECK Gay-Neck's wounds healed very slowly. Until about the middle of February he could not be made to fly more than ten yards above the roof. The duration of his flight too was very short. No matter how frequently I chased him off the roof, I could not keep him in the air more than a quarter of an hour. At first I thought that it was his lungs that were out of order. When, after investigation, they proved sound, I ascribed his disinclination to fly to his heart that might have been injured by his latest mishap. That assumption also proved erroneous after a second investigation. So, utterly exasperated by Gay-Neck's behaviour, I wrote a long letter to Ghond describing everything that had happened. It turned out that he had gone on a hunting trip with some Englishmen. Receiving no help from that quarter, I decided to examine my pigeon most closely. Day after day I put him on our house-top and watched, but no clue was vouchsafed me as to the nature of his trouble. So I gave up all hope of seeing Gay-Neck fly again. About the end of February I received a cryptic note from Ghond from the deeps of the jungle. It read: "Your pigeon is frightened. Cure him of his fear. Make him fly." But he did not say how. Nor could I devise anything that would make Gay-Neck wing his way into the higher spaces. It was no use chasing him off the roof, for if I chased him off one corner, he flew across to another and perched there. And what was most disconcerting was that if the shadow of a cloud or a flock of birds flying in the sky fell on him on our roof, he would tremble with terror. Doubtless every shadow that fell filled his mind with the feeling that it was a Baz or a falcon swooping down on him. That gave me an idea of how badly shaken Gay-Neck was. How to cure him of his disease of fear proved most baffling. Had we been in the Himalayas I would have taken him to the holy man who once healed him of a similar ailment, but here in the city there was no Lama. I was forced to wait.