"
"You should have credit for great secrecy," admitted Ranjoor Singh.
"Until a little while ago I had heard nothing of any German plans."
"Russia got the blame for what little was guessed at!" laughed the
German.
"Oh!" said Ranjoor Singh.
A little before midday they reached the Ajmere Gate, and the
lumbering cart passed under it. At the farther side the driver
stopped his oxen without orders, and Ranjoor Singh stepped out,
looking quickly up and down the road. There were people about, but
none whom he chose to favor with a second glance.
Close by the gate, almost under the shadow of it, and so drab and
dirty as to be almost unnoticeable, there was a little cotton-tented
booth, with a stock of lemonade and sweetmeats, that did interest
him. He looked three times at it, and at the third look a Mohammedan
wriggled out of it and walked away without a word.
"Come!" commanded Ranjoor Singh, and the German got out of the cart,
looking not so very much unlike the poor Mohammedan who had gone away.
"Get in there!" The German slipped into the real owner's place. So
far as appearances went, he was a very passable sweetmeat and
lemonade seller, and Ranjoor Singh proved competent to guard against
contingencies.
He picked a long stick out of the gutter and took his stand near by,
frowning as he saw a carriage he suspected to be Yasmini's drive
under the gate and come to a stand at the roadside, fifty or sixty
yards away.
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