“I hope I haven’t been too cocksure,” he muttered, under his close-trimmed gray mustache. “I pinned my faith to Alec’s company securing the fellow’s safety on the journey at least.”
He took another turn, and then, striking a vesta, looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes to eleven, whereas if those he expected had caught the 8.45 from St. Pancras, the carriage should have been back half an hour ago. He had hardly finished this calculation when from behind a gigantic vase on the plinth of the steps leading to the lower level of the gardens there sounded the hiss of a cobra, thrice repeated.
“Azimoolah?” said the General, softly.
His faithful servitor glided forward, almost invisible in the shabby blue tunic which had replaced the spotless white garments of Grosvenor Gardens.
“A queer orderly-room, sahib, but not more so than some we wot of in the by-ways of the Deccan,” he whispered, glancing up at the loom of the great mansion. “Well, I have done thy bidding, and have secured a lodging in the village as a poor vendor of Oriental
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