Having meted our this summary interpretation of Afghan petty justice, Kiftan Sahib resumes his blanket, and the old sowar comes and squats alongside my own rude couch, and endeavors to heal his wounded spirit by muttering appeals to Allah.  His savage groanings render it impossible for me to go to sleep, and several times I motion him away; but he affects not to take any notice.

Determined to drive him away, I rise up hastily as though about to attack him,—­a piece of strategy that causes him to scramble off the roof far quicker than he climbed on.  His fit of rage lasts through the night, finding vent in mutterings that are heard long after his hurried departure from my vicinity, and in the morning he is seen perched in a corner of the wall by himself, still angry and unappeased.

The rising sun ushers in May-day with unmistakable indications of his growing powers, and when he glares fiercely over the walls of our little orchard retreat, we find it profitable to crouch in the shade.  It is already evident that I am not to be permitted to enter Herat proper, or see or learn any more of my surroundings than my keepers can help.

Letters are forwarded to the city immediately upon our arrival, and on the following morning an officer and several soldiers make their appearance, to receive me from Kiftan Sahib and duly receipt for my transfer.  The officer announces himself as having once been to Bombay, and proceeds to question me in a mixture of Persian and Hindostani.

Finding me ignorant of the latter language, he openly accuses me of being a Russian, raising his finger and wagging his head in a deprecatory manner.  He is a simple-minded individual, however, and open to easy conviction, and moreover inclined to be amiable and courteous.  He tells me that Faramorz Khan is “Wall of the soldiers” and Niab Alookimah Khan the “dowleh” (civil governor), and after listening to my explanation of being English and not Russian, he takes upon himself to deliver salaams from them both.

“Merg Sahib,” the political agent of the Boundary Commission, he says is at Murghab, and “Ridgeway Sahib” at Maimene.  Learning that a courier is to be sent at once to them with letters in regard to myself, I quickly embrace the opportunity of sending a letter to each by the same messenger, explaining the situation, and asking Colonel Ridgeway to try and render me some assistance in getting through to India.

By request of the officer I send the governor of Herat a sketch of the bicycle, to enlighten him somewhat concerning its character and appearance.  No doubt, it would be a stretching of his Asiatic dignity as the governor of an important city, to come to Rosebagh on purpose to see it for himself, and on no circumstances can I, an unauthorized Ferenghi invading the country against orders, be permitted to visit Herat.