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.
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