There came a day when the Bakhtiari Khans gave us a terrible last attention and then left us—­as it turned out for good (although we did not know then it was for good).  We watched their dust as their different troops gathered together and rode away southward.  I suppose they had received word of better opportunity for plunder somewhere else; they took little but hard knocks from us, and doubtless any change was welcome.  When we had seen the last of them, and had watched the vultures swoop down on a horse they had left behind, we took new heart and rode on; and it so happened that the Germans chose that occasion for a rest.  Their dwindling Kurdish escort was growing mutinous and they took advantage of a village with high mud walls to get behind cover and try to reestablish confidence.  Perhaps they, too, saw the Bakhtiari Khans retiring in the distance, for we were close behind them at that time—­so close that even with tired horses we came on them before they could man the village wall.  We knocked a hole in the wall and had a good wide breach established in no time, to save ourselves trouble in case the gates should prove too strongly held; and leaving Anim Singh posted in the breach with his troop, Ranjoor Singh sent a trooper with a white flag to the main gate.

After ten or fifteen minutes the German commanding officer rode out, also with a white flag, and not knowing that Ranjoor Singh knew German, he spoke English. (Tugendheim had taken his tunic off and—­ all sweaty and trembling had hidden behind the ranks disguised with a cloth tied about his head.) I sat my horse beside Ranjoor Singh, so I heard all.

“Persia is neutral territory!” said the German.

“Are you, then, neutral?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Are you?” asked the German.  He was a handsome bullet-headed man with a bold eye, and I knew that to browbeat or trick him would be no easy matter.  Nevertheless he still had so many Kurds at his back that I doubted our ability to get the better of him in a fight, considering our condition.

“I could be neutral if I saw fit,” answered Ranjoor Singh, and the German’s eyes glittered.

“If you are neutral, ride on then!” he laughed.  I saw his eye teeth.  It was a mean laugh.

“What are you doing here?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Minding my business,” said the German pointedly.

“Then I will mind mine and investigate,” said Ranjoor Singh, and he turned to me as if to give an order, at which the German changed his tactics in a hurry.

“My business is simple,” said the German.  “Perfectly simple and perfectly neutral.  We have a wireless installation with us.  It is all ready to set up in this village.  In a few moments we shall be receiving messages from Europe, and then we shall inform the inhabitants of these parts how matters stand.  As neutrals they are entitled to that information.”  Their eyes met, each seeking to read the other’s mind, and the German misunderstood, as most Germans I have met do misunderstand.