sits and listens intently, and now and then chimes in with a word of soothing assent by way of emphasizing the subject, when the khan is explaining about the Ameer, or Allah, or kismet.  Mahmoud Tusuph Khan himself comes to the garden in the cool of the evening, and for half an hour occupies bungalow No. 2.  He betrays a spark of Oriental vanity by having an attendant follow behind, bearing a huge and wonderful sun-shade, into the make-up of which peacock feathers and other gorgeous material largely enters.  Noticing this, I make a determined assault upon his bump of Asiatic self-esteem, by asking him if he is brother to the Ameer.  He smiles and says he is a brother of Shere Ali, the ex-Ameer deposed in favor of Abdur Bahman.  His remarks during our second interview are largely composed of furtive queries, intended to penetrate what he evidently, even as yet, suspects to be the secret object of my mysterious appearance in the heart of the country.  The Afghan official is nothing if not suspicious, and although he professed his own conviction, in the morning, of my being an English “nokshi,” his constitutionally suspicious nature forbids him accepting this impression as final.

During this interview two more natives of India are produced and ordered to assail my long-suffering ears with the battery of their vernacular.  They are an interesting pair, and they evince the liveliest imaginable interest in finding a Sahib alone in the hands of the Afghans.  They are vivacious and intelligent, and try hard to make themselves understood.  From their own vocal and pantomimic efforts and the Persian of the Afghans, I learn that they are sepoys in charge of three prisoners from the Boundary Commission camp, whom they are taking through to Quetta.

They seem very anxious to do something in my behalf, and want Mahmoud Yusuph Khan to let them take me with them to Quetta.  I lose no time in signifying my approval of this suggestion; but the Governor shakes his head and orders them away, as though fearful even to have such a proposition entertained.  All the time the sepoys are endeavoring to make themselves understood, every Afghan present regards my face with the keenest scrutiny; so glaringly evident are their suspicions that the situation becomes too much for my gravity.  The sepoys grin broadly in response, whereupon the pugilistic-faced captain of the Governor’s guard remonstrates with them for their levity, by roughly making them stand in a more respectful attitude.  I dislike very much to see them ordered off, for they are evidently anxious to champion my cause; moreover, it would have been interesting to have accompanied them through to Quetta.  Understanding thoroughly by this time that I am not to be allowed to go through by way of Giriskh and Kandahar, and dreading the probability of being taken back into Persia, I ask permission to travel south to Jowain and the frontier of Beloochistan.  The Afghan-Beloochi boundary is not more than fifty or sixty miles south of Furrah, and while it would be difficult to say what advantage would be gained by reaching there, it would at all events be some consolation to find myself at liberty.