he sun is high the
Feringhis cannot be seen any more till night. Come with me; I will show
the way. 'Tis without there, towards the west."

He turned the horse's head, and led the way out again by the gate, and
so on for two miles until they came to the British cantonments which
Ahmed had already passed. He stopped at a small and unpretentious
building, at the door of which stood a red-coated sepoy. After a brief
conversation with him the Pathan hitched the bridle of Ahmed's horse to
a nail in the wall, and bade him go forward into the lobby. Several men
were squatting on the floor, Hindus in one part, Mohammedans in another,
awaiting audience with the Englishman, who devoted certain hours of the
morning to personal interviews with the natives. Ahmed found a place
among the Mohammedans, and squatted upon his heels to wait his turn. He
felt strangely depressed and forlorn. He was the youngest among the
waiting company, the most of whom ranged in age from the prime of
manhood to white old age. Some talked of their affairs with their
friends, others maintained silence; every now and then one would be
summoned to the room beyond, and the door opened to let out one and let
in another. These interviews were brief, and hardly an hour had passed
when Ahmed received his call. He rose and followed the servant, quaking
with nervous anticipation, and found himself in the presence of a
stern-looking, bronzed and bearded man, in plain clothes of the European
sort, his coat off, his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his elbows, seated at
a table strewn with papers. A younger man stood beside him.

"What does this youngster want?" said John Lawrence to the other, and
Ahmed again felt that strange thrill at the sound of English words. The
officer, recognizing his costume, asked him in the Pashtu tongue his
name and his business.

"I am Ahmed, son of Rahmut Khan of Shagpur," said the boy, "and I come
to ask Jan Larrens of my father's welfare."

The officer stared a little at this plain and simple statement, not
prefaced by "Hazur!" or any other title of respect.

"He's the son of that rascally freebooter we caught the other day," said
the officer. "Wants to know how the old villain is. Shall I tell him?"

"Oh yes, tell him, but not where we have sent him; we don't want a gang
of Pathans prowling round on the chance of breaking into the jail."

The officer then told Ahmed what he already knew--that his father was
imprisoned for five years