I've
no time to listen to his protests. Write, man, write!"
"Give me the paper and the pen, sahib!"
Ranjoor Singh wrote by the light of a flickering oil lamp, using his
trooper's shoulder for support. He passed the finished note back to
the general.
"Now some token, please, Risaldar-Major, that Colonel Kirby will be
sure to recognize--something to prove that the note is not forged."
Ranjoor Singh pulled a ring from his finger and held it out.
"Colonel Kirby sahib gave me this," he said simply.
"Thanks. Shake hands, will you? I've been talking to a man to-night--
to two men--if I ever did in my life! I shall go now and give this
letter to somebody to deliver to Colonel Kirby, and I shall not see
you again probably until all this is over. Please do what Yasmini
directs until you hear from me or can see for yourself that your task
is finished. Depend on me to remember my promise!"
Ranjoor Singh saluted, military-wise, although he was not in
uniform. The general answered his salute and left the room, to be met
by a maid, who took the note and the ring from him. Five minutes
later, with his rough disguise resumed, the general hunted about
among the shadows of the neighboring streets until he had found his
carriage. He recognized, but was not recognized by, the risaldar on
the box-seat of Colonel Kirby's shay.
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