"You mean trying to draw him. He's the best that come. Wish they were all like Kirby." The man who had not spoken yet--he looked younger, was some years older, and watched the faces of the other two while seeming to listen to something in the distance--looked at a cheap watch nervously. "Wish the Sikhs were all like Kirby!" he said. "If this business comes to a head, we're going to wish we had a million Kirbys. What did he say? Temper of his men excellent, I suppose?" "Used that one word." "Um-m-m! No suspicions, eh?" "Said, 'No, no suspicions!'" "Uh! I'll have a word with him." He waddled off, shaking his drab silk suit into shape and twisting a leather watch-guard around his finger. "Believe it will come to anything?" asked one of the two men he had left behind. "Dunno. Hope not. Awful business if it does." "Remember how we were promised a world-war two years ago, just before the Balkans took fire?" "Yes. That was a near thing, too. But they weren't quite ready then. Now they are ready, and they think we're not. If I were asked, I'd say we ought to let them know we're ready for 'em. They want to fight because they think they can catch us napping; they'd think twice if they knew they couldn't do it." "Are they blind and deaf? Can't they see and hear?" "_Quern deus vult perdere, prius dementat_, Ponsonby, my boy." The man in drab silk slipped into a chair next to Kirby's as a wolf slips into his lair, very circumspectly, and without noise; then he rutched the chair sidewise toward Kirby with about as much noise as a company of infantry would make. "Had a drink?" he asked, as Kirby looked up from his paper. "Have one?" "Ginger ale, please," said Kirby, putting the paper down. A turbaned waiter brought long glasses in which ice tinkled, and the two sipped slowly, not looking at each other. "Know Yasmini?" asked the man in drab silk suddenly. "Heard of her, of course." "Ever see her?" "No." "Ah! Most extraordinary woman. Wonderful!" Kirby looked puzzled, and held his peace. "Any of your officers ever visit her?" "Not when they're supposed to be on duty." "But at other times?" "None of my affair if they do. Don't know, I'm sure." "Um-m-m!" "Yes," said Kirby, without vehemence. "Look at his beak!" said one of the two men by the window. "Never see a big bird act that way? Look at his bright eye!" "Wish mine were as bright, and my beak as aquiline; means directness--soldierly directness, that does!" "Who is your best native officer, supposing you've any choice?" asked the man in the drab silk suit, speaking to the ceiling apparently. "Ranjoor Singh," said Kirby promptly. It was quite clear there was no doubt in his mind. "How is he best? In what way?" "Best man I've got. Fit to command the regiment." "Um-m-m!" "Yes," said Kirby. The man in drab sat sidewise and caught Kirby's eye, which was not difficult. There was nothing furtive about him.