“He says he is an Afghan. But unless he lies he is from Ishtamboul (Constantinople).” Itching to ask more questions, King sat still and held his peace. The direr the need of information in the “Hills,” and in all the East for that matter, the greater the wisdom, as a rule, of seeming uninquisitive. And wisdom was rewarded now, for the Pathan, who would have dried up under eager questioning, grew talkative. Civility and volubility are sometimes one, and not always only among the civilized. King--the hakim Kurram Khan--blinked mildly behind his spectacles and looked like one to whom a savage might safely ease his mind. “He bade me go to Sikaram where my village is and bring him a hundred men for his lashkar. He says he has her special favor. Wait and watch, I say! “Has he money?” asked King, apparently drawing a bow at a venture for conversation's sake. But there is an art in asking artless questions. “Aye! The liar says the Germans gave it to him! He swears they will send more. Who are the Germans? Who is a man who talks of a jihad that is to be, that he should have gold coin given him by unbelievers? I saw a German once, at Nuklao. He ate pig-meat and washed it down with wine. Are such men sons of the Prophet? Wait and watch, say I!” “Money?” said King. “He admits it? And none dare kill him for it? You say his time is not yet come?” More than ever it was obvious that the hakim was a very simple man. The Pathan made a gesture of contempt. “I dare what I will, hakim! But he says there is more money on the way! When he has it all--why--we are all in Allah's keeping--He decides!” “And should no more money come?” This was courteous conversation and received as such--many a long league removed from curiosity. “Who am I to foretell a man's kismet? I know what I know, and I think what I think! I know thee, hakim, for a gentle fellow, who hurt me almost not at all in the drawing of a bullet out of my flesh. What knowest thou about me?” “That I will dress the wound for thee again!” Artless statements are as useful in their way as artless questions. Let the guile lie deep, that is all. “Nay, nay! For she said nay! Shall I fall foul of her, for the sake of a new bandage?” The temptation was terrific to ask why she had given that order, but King resisted it; and presently it occurred to the Pathan that his own theories on the subject might be of interest. “She will use thee for a reward,” he said. “He who shall win and keep her favor may have his hurts dressed and his belly dosed. Her enemies may rot.” “Who is fool enough to be her enemy?” asked King, the altogether mild and guileless. The Pathan stuck out his tongue and squeezed his nose with one finger until it nearly disappeared into his face. “If she calls a man enemy, how shall he prove otherwise?” he answered. Then he rolled off center, to pull out his great snuff-box from the leather bag at his waist. “Does she call the mullah Muhammad Anim enemy?” King asked him.