emented Max.

Nick made a grimace. "Who told you that?"

"No one." Max blew a cloud of smoke upwards. "You're not the only person
with brains, Nick," he observed, with sardonic humour. "But look here!
Your friend Mrs. Musgrave is not to be meddled with in this matter. You
leave her alone and Hunt-Goring too! He's killing himself by inches with
opium, so he won't interfere with anyone for long. And she will prove a
useful friend to Noel if allowed to take her own way."

"You really mean to take this lying down?" said Nick.

"It's the easiest course," said Max.

"So far as you are concerned?" Nick abruptly turned in his chair; but
his scrutiny was of the briefest. He did not seem to look at Max at all;
nor did he apparently expect an answer to his query, for he went on
almost immediately. "It's damnable luck for both of you. Old man, are
you sure it's all right?"

There was no subtlety in the question. Nick had long since abandoned
subtlety in his dealings with Max Wyndham, a fact which indicated that
he held him in very high esteem.

Max's response expressed appreciation of the fact. He took his hand from
his pocket and carelessly stretched it out. "I am absolutely sure," he
said. "Make your mind easy on that point!"

Their hand-grip was silent and brief. It ended the discussion by mutual
consent.

At once Max changed the subject. "Is that chap your _khit_ or your valet
or what?"

"He is all three combined," said Nick. "Why? Think I work him too hard?"

The Indian showed his teeth in a splendid smile, but said nothing.

"No, but where's the other fellow?" said Max.

"What other fellow?" Nick thrust his one arm with vigour into his
riding-coat.

"The chap I saw here the other night--an old chap. I came along the
verandah to tell you there was someone sneaking in the compound, and he
shut the window in my face. I presumed he was head-nurse or bearer, or
whatever you are pleased to call them in these parts."

"Oh, that fellow!" said Nick. "Quite a venerable old chap, you mean?
Rather scraggy--not over-clean?"

"That's the man," said Max.

Nick laughed. "Great Scott! You didn't seriously, think he was my
bearer, did you? No, he's an old moonstone-seller who comes to see me
occasionally. He's not so disreputable as he looks. I find him handy in
the matter of bazaar politics, with which I consider it useful to keep
in touch."

Max received the information with a nod. His green eyes were watching
Nick's