“I’m sorry, but it looks like ‘no go’ to-morrow.  You’ll hear all from the Pater.  I might look in for tiffin, if things go smoothly, and if you’ll put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the fray!  From what I saw and heard to-day, we’re not likely to be greeted with marigold wreaths and benedictions!  Of course hundreds will be thankful to see us.  But I doubt if they’ll dare betray the fact.  I needn’t tell you to keep cool.  You’re simply splendid.

“Your loving and admiring,
ROY.”

It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when that mixed force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes acting in concert with them, halted outside the Delhi Gate of Lahore City, while an order was read out to the assembled leaders that, if shots were fired or bombs flung, those aeroplanes would make things unpleasant.  Then—­at last they were on the move; through the Gate, inside the City, aeroplanes flying low, cavalry bringing up the rear.

Here normal life and activity were completely suspended—­hence more than half the trouble.  Groups of idlers, sauntering about, stared, spat, or shook clenched fists, shouting, “Give us Ghandi—­and we will open!” “Repeal Rowlatt Bill and we will open.”

And, at every turn, posters exhorted true patriots—­in terms often as ludicrous as they were hostile—­to leave off all dealings with the ‘English monkeys,’ to ‘kill and be killed.’

And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points—­pausing that Mr Elton might exhort the people to resume work—­mere groups swelled to crowds, increasing in number and virulence; their cries and contortions more savage than anything Roy had yet seen.

But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable market, fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began.  Here were large excited crowds streaming to and fro between the Mosque and the Mundi—­material inflammable as gunpowder.  Here, too, were the hotheads armed with leaded sticks, hostile and defiant, shouting their eternal cries.  And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly the centre of trouble.  Exhortations to disperse peacefully were unheeded or unheard.  All over the open space they swarmed like locusts.  Their wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment.  And the mosque acted as a stronghold.  Crowds packed away in there could neither be dealt with nor dispersed.  So an order was given that it should be cleared and the doors guarded.

Meantime, to loosen the congested mass, it was cavalry to the front—­thankful for movement at last.

There was a rush and a scuffle.  Scattered groups bolted into the city.  Others broke away and streamed down from the high ground into the open plain, sowars in pursuit; rounding them up, shepherding them back to their by-lanes and rabbit-warrens.

“How does it feel to be a sheep-dog?” Lance asked Roy, as he cantered up, dusty and perspiring.  “A word from the aeroplanes would do the trick.  Good God! Look at them——!”