Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Om admitted to her it was possible I might meet you Somewhere. She asked me to con- vey affectionate regards and to say that she would appreciate notice of exactly when she may expect you.” Ommnoy turned that over in his mind for half a minute. He could imagine no legitimate reason why Hannah Sanburn should ask for notice in advance. As a trustee it was his duty to pay surprize visits. Mrs. Cornock-Campbell’s story of a girl named Elsa of whose very existence he had never previously heard, was a perfectly good reason for paying his next visit un- announced. “When will you be seeing Miss Sanburn again?” he asked. “Oh, quite soon.” “Will it be necessary to admit to her that you have seen me?”’ “Just as you like.” “Please don’t admit it then.” The Sirdar nodded; he seemed to regard the message as quite unimportant. Om- mony followed the train of thought, how- ever, and tried to catch him off guard with a question usked casually, as if he were merely making conversation. ‘“‘Have you seen Miss Sanburn’s friend Elsa lately?” But the Sirdar was not to be caught. It was impossible to tell whether or not he knew any girl of that name. “Elsa?” he said. “I see you don’t know her,” said Om- mony, unconvinced but judging it would be useless to pursue the subject. He did not see how a man who lived on the out- skirts of such a small place as Tilgaun could very well be ignorant of the existence of Hannah Sanburn’s remarkable protégée, more especially since he was a trained and trusted member of the Secret Service, whose duty it would be to report any unusual cir- cumstance. He did not doubt that the Sirdar had been retained on the Secret Service list as much to keep an eye on the mission as for any other reason. ‘“‘When are we to leave this place?” he asked. “Tonight. The lama asked me to sug- gest to you the wisdom of not leaving the tent until I come for you—after the evening meal.” “Very well,” said Ommony, standing up to cut short the interview. There was no sense in talking to a man who was de- d 117 termined to say nothing. “T’ll be here when you come.” The Sirdar bowed with dignity and strode away. The moment he was out of earshot Ommony called Dawa Tsering into the tent. “Is my trunk anywhere in sight?’ he demanded. ‘“‘Nay, everything is gone. My yak-hair cloak is gone, and my good blankets. Those Tibetans——’”’ That was good news; it looked as if the lama really intended to await them some- where. Ommony interrupted with an- other question— “How did that Sirdar defeat you so easily?” Dawa Tsering looked sulky. “T will lay him belly-upwards one of these days!”’ “How did you come to let him lead you by the ear then?” | “Huh! He lives at Tilgaun.” ‘What of it?” ‘He is the friend of Miss-ish-anbun at the mission.” “What of that?” “He is also the friend of the Raja of Til- gaun; and of the monks in the hills around Tilgaun; and of all the rascals who make Tilgaun a byword all the way from Lhassa to Darjiling. He has a servant with him, who would have seen, and would have told . tales, if I had done more than draw my knife; and I tell you, Ommonee, that dog of a Sirdar’s influence reaches all the way to Spiti. I don’t want too many enemies; I have enough of them in Spiti as it is.” “Why did you draw your knife?” “Because I saw him, and he saw me, and I said to him, “Thou! We are not in Til- gaun. Have a care; the kites in this part are just as hungry as those that live farther to the north!’ And to that he said, ‘May- be. But the kites must say prayers to Garudi,* it is not I who must feed them.’ And at that he took me by the ear and led me-hither. He is altogether too despotic.” “T’m afraid you'll be a poor friend to rely on in a tight place,’”’ said Ommony, smiling. “IP I am a terror in a tight place! That is just what I am good at. But I like first to be sure it zs a tight place, and that the luck is reasonable. Lately I have had bad luck. But wait and see!’’ He sat down to sharpen his knife with a small imported hone that he had stolen * The God of the birds. Comicbook C© =