“Yes.  Call ’em off and send Cunningham to me.  How did he shape?”

“Like a son of Cunnigan-bahadur!  General-sahib-salaam!”

“No.  Here, you old ruffian—­shake hands, will you?  Now send Cunningham to me.”

Cunningham came up fifteen minutes later, with a Rangar orderly behind him, and did his best to salute as though it were nothing more than an ordinary meeting.

“Oh!  Here you are.  ’Gratulate you, Cunningham!  You came in the nick of time.  What kept you?”

“That ’ud take a long time to tell, sir.  I’ve fifteen hundred horses about ten miles from here, sir, left in charge of native levies, and I’d like permission to go and fetch them before the levies make off with them.”

“Splendid!  Yes, you’d better go for them.  What’s in the wagons.”

“The Howrah treasure, sir!”

“What?”

“The whole of the Howrah treasure, sir!  It’s held as security.  Howrah guarantees to keep the peace and protect the homes of my men.  I guaranteed to hand him back the treasure when the show’s over, less deductions for damage done!”

“Well, I’m—­ Who thought of that?  You or Mahommed Gunga?”

“Oh, I expect we cooked it up between us, sir.”

“H-rrrr-umph!  And what’s in the six-horse coach?”

“A lady and her father.”

“The deuce they are!”

Byng rode up to the lumbering vehicle, signing to Cunningham to follow him.

“General Byng,” said Cunningham.  “Miss McClean, sir.”

A very much dishevelled and very weary-looking young woman with a wealth of chestnut hair leaned through the window and smiled, not at the General but at Cunningham.  Byng stared—­looked from one to the other of them—­and said “Hu-rrrr-umph!” again.

“It was she who made the whole thing possible, sir.”

“The very deuce it was!” It began to be evident that Byng was not a ladies’ man!

“This is Mr. McClean, sir—­Rosemary’s father.  He helped her put the whole scheme through.”

Byng nodded to the missionary and looked back at Rosemary McClean—­ then from her to Cunningham again.

“Hu-rrrr-umph!  Christian names already!  More ’gratulations, eh?”

Rosemary’s head and shoulders disappeared and Cunningham looked foolish.

“Well!  Send Mahommed Gunga for the horses.  Ride over there to where you see General Evans’s column and tell him the whole story.  Take a small escort and the treasure with you.  And—­ah—­er—­lemme see —­take this carriage, too.  Oh, by the bye—­you’d better ask General Evans to make some arrangements for Miss McClean.  Leave her over there with the treasure.  I want you back with my brigade, and I want you to be some sort of use.  Can’t have love-making with the brigade, Mr. Cunningham!”

The Brigadier rode off with a very perfunctory salute.

“Isn’t he a rather curmudgeony sort of officer?” asked Rosemary the moment that his back was turned.