Grim and I sat silent
through the meal. I experienced the sensation that you get when an
expedition proves a failure and you've got to go home again with nothing
done--all dreary emptiness; but Grim was hatching something, as you
could tell by the far-away expression and the glowering light in his
eyes. He looked about ready for murder.
Narayan Singh's face all through the meal was a picture--delight and
pride at dining with a king, amazement at his karma that had brought a
sepoy of the line to hear such confidences first hand, chagrin over
Grim's apparent failure and desire to be inconspicuous controlled his
expression in turn. Once or twice he tried to make conversation with
me, but I was in no mood for it, being a grouchy old bear on occasion
without decent manners.
Feisul excused himself the minute the meal was over, saying he had a
conference to attend, and we all went back into the sitting-room, where
Grim took the chair he occupied before and marshalled us into a row on
the seat in front of him. He was back again in form--electric--and
self-controlled.
"Have you folk got the hang of this?" he asked. "Do you realize what it
means if Feisul goes out and gets scuppered?"
We thought we did, even if we didn't.
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