“Good!” said Willoughby de Wing.  “A very good thought indeed!  I know nothing of politics, except this; that there’s nothing like guns to overawe the native mind and convince him that the game’s up!  Let’s see—­ who’d come with the guns?  Coburn, wouldn’t he?  Yes, Coburn.  He’s my junior in the service.  Yes, a very good notion indeed.  Ask for two batteries by all means.”

“I’ll tell them not to hurry,” said Samson.  “It’s hot weather.  They can make it in easy stages.”

“By jove!” said Topham.  “They’ll be here in time for the polo.  Won’t they beef!”

“Talking of polo, who’s to captain the other side?  Is it known yet?” asked De Wing.

“Utirupa,” answered Topham.  “There was never any doubt of that.  We’ve got Collins to captain us, and Latham and Cartwright, besides me.  We’ll give him the game of his life!”

“That settles quite an important point,” said Samson.  “The polo tournament—­ after it, rather—­is the time to talk to Utirupa.  If we keep quiet until then—­ all of us, I mean—­there’ll be no chance of the cat jumping before the State Department pulls the string.  I feel sure, from inside information, that Headquarters would like nothing known about this coup d’etat until it’s consummated.  Explanations afterward, and the fewer the better!  Have a drink anybody?”

In the outer office beyond the curtain Sita Ram cautiously refitted the knot into its hole, and sat down to write hurriedly while details were fresh in mind.  Ten minutes afterward, when the conference had broken up in small-talk, he asked permission to absent himself for an hour or two.  He said he had a debt to pay across the river, to a man whose wife was ill.

One hour and a half later by Sita Ram’s wrist watch, Ismail, an Afridi gate-keeper at present apparently without a job, started off on a racing camel full-pelt for the border, with a letter in his pocket addressed to a merchant by way of ostensible business, and ten rupees for solace to the Desert Police.  Tucked away in the ample folds of his turban was a letter to Yasmini, giving Sita Ram’s accurate account of what had happened at the secret conference.

Chapter Eighteen

Safe rules for defeating a rascal are three,
And the first of them all is appear to agree. 
The second is boggle at points that don’t matter,
Hold out for expense and emolument fatter. 
The third is put wish-to-seem-wise on the shelf
And keep your eventual plan to yourself. 
Giving heed to the three with your voice and eyes level
You can turn the last trick by out-trumping the devil.

“Be discreet, Blaine—­please be discreet!”

Meanwhile, Gungadhura was not inactive, nor without spies of his own, who told him more or less vaguely that trouble was cooking for him in the English camp.  A letter he expected from the Mahsudi tribe had not reached him.  It was the very letter he had hoped to show to Samson in proof of Mahsudi villainy and his own friendship; but he rather feared it had fallen into secret service hands, in which case he might have a hard time to clear himself.