"Oh, hallo, Kirby! Glad you've come!" said a voice. "Evening, sir!" Kirby descended, almost into the arms of a general in evening dress. They walked into the club together, leaving the adjutant wondering what to do. He decided to follow them at a decent distance, still humming and looking happy enough for six men. "You'll be among the first," said the general. "Are you ready, Kirby--absolutely ready?" "Yes," "The wires are working to the limit. It isn't settled yet whether troops go from here via Canada or the Red Sea--probably won't be until the Navy's had a chance to clear the road. All that's known--yet--is that Belgium's invaded, and that every living man Jack who can be hurried to the front in time to keep the Germans out of Paris will be sent. Hold yourself ready to entrain any minute, Kirby." "Is martial law proclaimed yet?" asked Kirby in a voice that the general seemed to think was strained, for he looked around sharply. "Not yet. Why?" "Information, sir. Anything else?" "No. Good night." "Good night, sir." Kirby nearly ran into Warrington as he hurried back toward the door. "Find a police officer!" he ordered. "They all passed you a minute ago, sir," answered Warrington. "They're headed for police headquarters. Heard one of 'em say so." Kirby pulled himself together. A stranger would not have noticed that he needed it, but Warrington at his elbow saw the effort and was glad. "Go to police headquarters, then," he ordered. "Try to get them to bring a dozen men and search, that house; but don't say that Ranjoor Singh's in there." "Where'll I find you, sir?" "Barracks. Oh, by the way, we're a sure thing for the front." "I knew there was some reason why I kept feelin' cheerful!" said Warrington. "The risaldar-major looks like gettin' left." "Unless," said Kirby, "you can get the police to act to-night--or unless martial law's proclaimed at once, and I can think of an excuse to search the house with a hundred men myself. Find somebody to give you a lift. So long." Kirby swung into his dog-cart, the sais did an acrobatic turn behind, and again the horse proceeded to lower records. Zigzag-wise, through streets that were growing more and yet more thronged instead of silent, they tore barrackward, missing men by a miracle every twelve yards. Kirby's eyes were on a red blotch, now, that danced and glowed above the bazaar a mile ahead. It reminded him of pain. Presently the horse sniffed smoke, and notified as much before settling down into his stride again. The din of hoarse excitement reached Kirby's ears, and in a moment more a khaki figure leaped out of a shadow and a panting trooper snatched at the back seat, was grabbed by the sais, and swung up in the rear. "Sahib--" "All right. I know," said Kirby, though he did not know how he knew.