moment, and, turning, all saw a most magnificent personage – to wit, the mess butler – standing at the door of the mess bungalow, sounding the call for luncheon. Then all turned and trooped across the roof of the fortress, across the veranda, and disappeared within the door of the bungalow.
It was perhaps three minutes later when a tall and immaculately dressed officer sauntered on to the roof of the fortress, and having taken stock of the view – as if he too must needs partake of some fillip before venturing upon luncheon – then strode off into the mess bungalow. There he found his brother officers already seated, and, striding down behind them, sat himself down at his accustomed place.
"Hallo! Back again, Joe?" ventured the jovial Major, who occupied the neighbouring chair. "Hardly expected you."
Major Joe Douglas dropped his eyeglass as he helped himself to curry, and turned smilingly upon his brother officer.
"Oh! Really!" he said, in those very quiet tones for which he was noted.
"Never saw such a chap," laughed the jovial Major, as he attacked the food which lay before him. "You come and go like a wizard. In fact, you're here one day, and gone to-morrow, and goodness only knows where you spirit yourself to. My dear old boy, you can't deny the accusation. Mind you, I'm not trying to be inquisitive, very far from it, for I know that inquisitiveness in the case of 'politicals', such as you are, is a deadly sin; but let's call it simple curiosity, harmless curiosity – the curiosity one's allowed to display with regard to one's brother officers. You see, you come and go."
"Yes. Quite so," smiled Major Douglas.
"And sometimes you're here, kicking your heels about, and dawdling for a month and more at a time. Then you disappear, where to, goodness alone knows. If you were going on leave to England the whole station would be aware of it. But you don't. You haven't been home for ten years at least. Then where do you get to?"
Till that moment a babel of sounds had been proceeding from the members of the mess, for a dozen subalterns can create quite a considerable amount of noise between them. Yet, as they ate their meal and bantered with one another, not one had failed to notice the arrival of Major Joseph Douglas. They liked the man. Not that they saw very much of him, nor could he be accused of ever being garrulous. He was just a smart, tall, immaculately dressed officer, who had a great reputation for smartness and soldierly qualities. At first sight his eyeglass rather awed young subalterns, till they grew to know that the Major was like Charlie, his fat brother officer, a most excellent and unaffected fellow. Beyond their liking for him there was, however, a depth of curiosity to which their senior officer had only just given expression. Such a cross-questioning of Major Douglas not one of the subalterns would ever have ventured upon. For somehow it had come to be generally known in the mess that the Major's movements were essentially secret. He was a political officer, they all knew, though what "political" meant in his case few of them had but the faintest idea. Yet one and all were very naturally consumed with a desire to know something of this quiet, reserved, yet exceedingly pleasant brother officer. Thus it happened that even in the midst of their banter they heard the old field officer cross-examine the Major, and promptly became silent.
"Well, now," they heard him say, "I've cornered you, Joe; you're here, next door to me, and can't get away; and remember it's just friendly curiosity. Do, for goodness' sake, tell us something about yourself: where you've been of late, what you've done, and what's the meaning of it."
All eyes were turned promptly upon Major Joseph Douglas. He groped for his fallen eyeglass, and fixed it very deliberately in his eye, then he signalled to one of the mess waiters and just as deliberately helped himself to another share of curried chicken.
"I – Oh – Why, Charlie!" he began. "Have you – er – that is, did you try this curried chicken? I declare it to be the best that I've tasted for a year or so. What's happened? Have you fellows been indulging in a new cook since I last went away, or – Do try some, Charlie, there's a good fellow."
Those who did not know the officers of the – Sikhs, and didn't know either Major Charles Evans or Major Joseph Douglas, might have expected at this moment quite an explosion on the part of Major Evans. The jovial fellow had had the audacity to show curiosity. Taking advantage of his age and of his seniority, he had ventured at the mess table to cross-examine a "political", and now, just as he was listening with bated breath for the answer, he received – merely a "put-off", and heard his brother officer asking him, in that suave, quiet voice he knew so well, whether he would not indulge in a helping of curried chicken. Yet those unacquainted with the officers of the – Sikhs would have found themselves signally in error when expecting an explosion. Those two bright eyes, of which Major Evans boasted, twinkled as he listened to his brother officer. Then the corners of his mouth dimpled, and a moment later he was roaring with laughter.
"Beaten, hopelessly beaten!" he cried jovially; "and I might have expected it. For an oyster, my dear boy, you really are exceptional. Now any other fellow, any other "political", that is to say, would have indulged in some sort of hint to relieve our curiosity, would have pitched some sort of yarn, even though it were not an exactly true one. But you – well, you're hopeless, incorrigible, and most utterly disappointing. Boy! Bring me some iced water, I must cool myself down after such a rebuff, and I'll – Hallo! Hallo! Here's a message."
A native soldier stood saluting at the door of the ante-room, and presented an official envelope to the mess butler.
"The Major Sahib," he said.
"The Major Douglas Sahib," the mess butler corrected him severely. "The Major Douglas Sahib. Quick! Important!"
He placed the envelope on a silver salver, and, holding it there with the tip of his thumb, came swiftly and silently round to the seat occupied by that officer.
"From the Colonel, Sahib," he said as he leant over Joe Douglas's shoulder.
Very slowly and deliberately, as if unconscious of the fact that every eye in the mess was surreptitiously fixed upon him, Joe Douglas tore open the envelope and read the contents of the missive.
"Proceed at once to Bombay. There call for orders at Governor's office. Mesopotamia – urgent," he read, and those who watched him saw not so much as a flicker of an eyelash or the smallest change of expression. He folded the letter up again and very deliberately placed it back in the envelope and very leisurely deposited it in a pocket. Then he finished his curried chicken, called for a cup of coffee, and sat smoking a cigarette and chatting with his brother officers.
"Well?" asked Major Evans, as Joe Douglas rose to leave. "I'm serious, my boy, this time. Everyone knows that things are moving over in Europe and elsewhere, and everyone can guess that you are off again on some expedition. Here's good luck! If I can do anything for you in your absence don't fail to write, for you know that Charlie Evans will stand by you."
Joe Douglas nodded to the dozen subalterns seated about the table, and puffed a cloud of tobacco smoke above their heads.
"Come out for a moment, Charlie," he said. "Good-bye, you fellows, I'm just off on a little trip. Keep things going till I come back again to the mess."
He was on his feet by now, and strode clanking out on to the roof of the fortress, followed by Major Evans. Then the two men walked to the parapet of the fortress and stood side by side looking out over that gorgeous scene, neither of them venturing to speak for a few minutes. At length Joe Douglas turned to his companion.
"Listen to this, Charlie," he said. "I'm off on something bigger than I've had to tackle before, though I'm to cover much of the ground that I'm used to. It's Mesopotamia again."
"Ah! Mesopotamia – a nasty place, up North of the Persian Gulf – heat – mosquitoes – Arabs," muttered Major Evans.
"Not
