“Oh, no.  It’s not that,” replied the subaltern confidently.  “Badshah doesn’t go must.  It’s something quite different.  The jungle men around here have a quaint belief about it.  You see, Badshah was captured by the Kheddah Department here years ago—­twenty, I think.  He’s about forty now.  He was taken away to other parts of India, Mhow for one——­”

“Yes, they used to have an elephant battery there,” broke in the Major.

“But somehow or other he got here eventually.  Rather curious that he should have been sent back to his birthplace.  Anyhow, the natives believe that when he breaks away he goes off to family reunions or to meet old pals.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” remarked Dermot, meditatively.  “They’re strange beasts, elephants.  No one really knows much about them.  I expect the jungle calls to them, as it does to me.”

He lit a cigarette and went on,

“But I’ve sent for you to talk over something important.  Read that.”

He handed Parker his transcription of the cipher letter.  As the subaltern read it his eyes opened wider and wider.  When he had finished he exclaimed joyfully,

“By Jove, Major, that’s great.  Do you think there’s anything in it?  How ripping it’ll be if they try to come in by this pass!  Won’t we just knock them!  Couldn’t we get some machine guns?”

“I’m afraid we couldn’t hold the Fort of Ranga Duar against a whole invading army, Parker.  You know it isn’t really defensible against a serious attack.”

“Oh, I say!  Do you mean, sir, that we’d give it up to a lot of Chinks and bare-legged Bhuttias without firing a shot?”

The Major smiled at his junior’s indignation.

“You must remember, Parker, that if an invasion comes off it will be on a scale that two hundred men won’t stop.  The Bhutanese are badly armed; but they are fanatically brave.  They showed that in their war with us in ’64 and ’65.  They had only swords, bows, and arrows; but they licked one of our columns hollow and drove our men in headlong flight.  But cheer up, Parker, if there is a show it won’t be my fault if you and I don’t have a good look in.”

“Thank you, Major,” said the subaltern gratefully.

He smoked in silence for a while and then said: 

“D’you know, sir, I had an idea there was something up when Major Smith was suddenly ordered away and you, who didn’t belong to us, were sent here from Simla.  I’d heard of you before, not only as a great shikari—­the natives everywhere in these jungles talk a lot about you—­but also as a keen soldier.  A fellow doesn’t usually come straight from a staff job at Army Headquarters to a small outpost like this for nothing.”

Dermot laughed.

“Unless he has got into trouble and is sent off as a punishment,” he said.  “But that didn’t happen to be my case.  However, I was delighted to leave Simla.  Better the jungle a thousand times.”