The general, for his part, had--even although pushed without
ceremony through a door--behaved with perfect confidence, for he knew
that, whatever her whim or her sense of humor, or her impudence,
Yasmini would not fail him in the pinch. Even she, whose jest it is
to see men writhe under her hand, has to own somebody her master, and
though she would giggle at the notion of fearing any one man, or any
dozen, she does fear the representative of what she and perhaps a
hundred others call "The Game." For the night, and for the place, the
general was that representative, and however much he might
disapprove, he had no doubt of her.
* * * * *
Ranjoor Singh stood aghast at sight of him, and the trooper saluted
like an automaton, since nothing save obedience was any affair of his.
"Evening, Risaldar-Major!" smiled the general.
"Salaam, General sahib!"
"To save time, I will tell you that I know stage by stage how you
got here."
Ranjoor Singh looked suspicious. For five-and-twenty years he had
watched British justice work, and British justice gives both sides a
hearing; he had not told his own version yet.
"I know that you have had word in another part of this house with a
German, who pretends to be a merchant but who is really a spy."
Ranjoor Singh looked even more suspicious.
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