“No. This is different. She wanted them arrested and locked up at a moment when the jails were all crowded. And then she wanted us to put 'em into trucks and railroad 'em up North out of harm's way as she put it, and we happened to be too busy. The railway staff was overworked. Now things are getting straightened out. I felt it keenly not being able to oblige her, but she asked too much at the wrong moment! I would have done it if I could out of gratitude; it was she who tipped off for us most of the really dangerous men, and it was not her fault a few of them escaped. But we've all been working both tides under, King. Take me; this is my first night in bed in three, and here I am awake! No--nothing personal--glad to see you, but please understand. And I'm a leisured dilettante compared to most of the others. She must have known our fix. She shouldn't have asked.” King smiled. “Perfectly good opportunity for me, sir!” he said cheerfully. “So you seem to think. But look out for that woman, King--she's dangerous. She's got the brains of Asia coupled with Western energy! I think she's on our side, and I know he believes it; but watch her!” “Ham dekta hai!” King grinned. But the older man continued to look as if he pitied him. “If you get through alive, come and tell me about it afterward. Now, mind you do! I'm awfully interested, but as for envying you--” “Envy!” King almost squealed. He made the bed-springs rattle as he jumped. “I wouldn't swap jobs with General French, sir!” “Nor with me, I suppose!” “Nor with you, sir. “Good-by, then. Good-by, King, my boy. Good-by, Athelstan. Your brother's up the Khyber, isn't he? Give him my regards. Good-by!” Long before dawn the thirty prisoners and Ismail squatted in a little herd on the up-platform of a railway station, shepherded by King, who smoked a cheroot some twenty paces away, sitting on an unmarked chest of medicines. He seemed absorbed in a book on surgery that he had borrowed from a chance-met acquaintance in the go-down where he drew the medical supplies. Ismail sat on the one trunk that had been fetched from the other station and nursed the new hand-bag on his knees, picking everlastingly at the lock and wondering audibly what the bag contained to an accompaniment of low-growled sympathy. “I am his servant--for she said so--and he said so. As the custom is he gave me the key of the great bag--on which I sit--as he said himself, for safe-keeping. Then why--why in Allah's name--am I not to have the key of this bag too? Of this little bag that holds so little and is so light?” “It might be money in it?” hazarded one of the herd. “Nay, for that it is too light.” “Paper money!” suggested another man. “Hundies, with printing on the face that sahibs accept instead of gold.” “Nay, I know where his money is,” said Ismail. “He has but little with him.”