“Why?”

“Why, indeed!  Here you and Miss Westonhaugh have been calmly planning an extensive tiger-hunt, when you have promised to be in the neighbourhood of Keitung in three weeks, wherever that may be.  I suppose it is in the opposite direction from here, for you will not find any tigers nearer than the Terai at this time of year.”

“I do not see the difficulty,” he answered.  “We can be in Oude in two days from here; shoot tigers for ten days, and be here again in two days more.  That is just a fortnight.  It will not take me a week to reach Keitung.  I am much mistaken if I do not get there in three days.  I shall lay a dak by messengers before I go to Oude, and between a double set of coolies and lots of ponies wherever the roads are good enough, I shall be at the place of meeting soon enough, never fear.”

“Oh, very well; but I hardly think Ghyrkins will want to return under three weeks; and—­I did not think you would want to leave the party.”  He had evidently planned the whole three weeks’ business carefully.  I did not continue the conversation.  He was naturally absorbed in the arrangement of his numerous schemes—­no easy matter, when affairs of magnitude have to be ordered to suit the exigencies of a grande passion.  I shrank from intruding on his reflections, and I had quite enough to do in keeping my horse on his feet in the thick darkness.  Suddenly he reared violently, and then stood still, quivering in every limb.  Isaacs’ horse plunged and snorted by my side, and cannoned heavily against me.  Then all was quiet.  I could see nothing.  Presently a voice, low and musical, broke on the darkness, and I thought I could distinguish a tall figure on foot at Isaacs’ knee.  Whoever the man was he must be on the other side of my companion, but I made out a head from which the voice proceeded.

“Peace, Abdul Hafiz!” it said.

“Aleikum Salaam, Ram Lal!” answered Isaacs.  He must have recognised the man by his voice.

“Abdul,” continued the stranger, speaking Persian.  “I have business with thee this night; thou art going home.  If it is thy pleasure I will be with thee in two hours in thy dwelling.”

“Thy pleasure is my pleasure.  Be it so.”  I thought the head disappeared.

“Be it so,” the voice echoed, growing faint, as if moving rapidly away from us.  The horses, momentarily startled by the unexpected pedestrian, regained their equanimity.  I confess the incident gave me a curiously unpleasant sensation.  It was so very odd that a man on foot—­a Persian, I judged, by his accent—­should know of my companion’s whereabouts, and that they should recognise each other by their voices.  I recollected that our coming to Mr. Ghyrkins’ bungalow was wholly unpremeditated, and I was sure Isaacs had spoken to none but our party—­not even to his saice—­since our meeting with the Westonhaughs on the Annandale road an hour and a half before.

“I wonder what he wants,” said my friend, apparently soliloquising.