It need surprise nobody that Colonel Kirby found time first to go to his bathroom. His regiment was as ready for active service at any minute as a fire-engine should be--in that particular, India's speed is as three to Prussia's one. The moment orders to march should come, he would parade it in full marching order and lead it away. But there were no orders yet; he had merely had warning. So he sent for dog-soap and a brush, and proceeded to scour his head. After twenty minutes of it, and ten changes of water, when he felt that he dared face his own servant without blushing, he made that wondering Sikh take turns at shampooing him until he could endure the friction no longer. "What does my head smell of now?" he demanded. "Musk, sahib!" "Not of dog-soap?" "No, sahib!" "Bring that carbolic disinfectant here!" The servant obeyed, and Kirby mixed a lotion that would outsmell most things. He laved his head in it generously, and washed it off sparingly. "Bring me brown paper?" he ordered then; and again the wide-eyed Sikh obeyed. Kirby rolled the paper into torches, and giving the servant one, proceeded to fumigate the room and his own person until not even a bloodhound could have tracked him back to Yasmini's, and the reek of musk had been temporarily, at least, subdued into quiescence. "Go and ask Major Brammle to come and see me," said Kirby then. * * * * * Brammle came in sniffing, and Kirby cursed him through tight lips with words that were no less fervent for lack of being heard. "Hallo! Burning love-letters? The whole mess is doin' the same thing. Haven't had time to burn mine yet--was busy sorting things over when you called. Look here!" He opened the front of his mess-jacket and produced a little lace handkerchief, a glove and a powder-puff. "Smell 'em!" he said. "Patchouli! Shame to burn 'em, what? S'pose I must, though." "Any thing happen while I was gone?" asked Kirby. "Yes. Most extraordinary thing. You know that a few hours ago D Squadron were all sitting about in groups looking miserable? We set it down to their trooper being murdered and another man being missing. Well, just about the time you and Warrington drove off in the mess shay, they all bucked up and began grinning! Wouldn't say a word. Just grinned, and became the perkiest squadron of the lot! "Now they're all sleeping like two-year-olds. Reason? Not a word of reason! I saw young Warrington just now on his way to their quarters with a lantern, and if he can find any of 'em awake perhaps he can get the truth out of 'em, for they'll talk to him when they won't to anybody else. By the way, Warrington can't have come in with you, did he?" Kirby ignored the question. "Did you tell Warrington to go and ask them?" he demanded.