e blue. In spite
of concern for Roy, he was thinking again of his Sikhs.

"I suppose one can take it," he remarked thoughtfully, "that Vinx and
Mayne and that good old Moslem johnny know what they're talking about?"

Roy smiled--having jumped at the connection. "I'm afraid," he said, "one
can."

"You think big trouble is coming--organised trouble?"

"I do. That is, unless some 'strong silent man' has the pluck to put his
foot down in time, and chance the consequences to himself. Thank God,
we've another John Lawrence in the Punjab."

"And it's the Punjab that matters----"

"Especially a certain P.C. Regiment--eh?"

Lance was in arms at once:--that meant he had touched the spot. "No
flies on the Regiment. Trust Paul. It's only--I get bothered about a
Sikh here and there."

"Quite so. The blighters have taken particular pains with the Sikhs.
Realising that they'll need some fighting stuff. And Lahore's a bad
place. I expect they sneak off to meetings in the City."

"Devil a doubt of it. Mind you, I trust them implicitly. But, outside
their own line, they're credulous as children--_you_ know."

"Rather. In Delhi, I had a fair sample of it."

Another pause. It suddenly occurred to Lance that his precious Sikhs
were not supposed to be the topic of the evening. "You're quite fit
again, Roy. And those blooming fools chucked you like a cast horse----"
he broke out in a spurt of vexation. "I wish to God you were back with
your old Squadron."

And Roy said from his heart, "I wish to God I was."

"Paul misses you, though he never says much. The new lot from home are
good chaps. Full of brains and theories. But no knowledge. Can't get at
the men. You could still help unofficially in all sorts of ways.--Why
not come along back with me? Haven't you been pottering round here long
enough?"

Roy shook his head. "Thanks all the same, for the invite. Of course I'd
love it. But--I've things to do. There's a novel taking shape--and
other oddments. I've done precious little writing here. Too much
entangled with human destinies. I _must_ bury myself somewhere and get a
move on. April it is. I won't fail you."

Lance kicked an unoffending log. "Confound your old novel!"--A
portentous silence. "See here, Roy, I don't want to badger you.
But--well--if I'm to go back in moderate peace of mind, I want--certain
guarantees."

Roy lifted his eyes. Lance frankly encountered them; and there ensued
one of those intimate pauses in wh