Part 8

“Tell me, then,” said Heideck, with apparent indifference, “how strong really is the army of the Governor-General of Turkestan?”

The Russian looked up, but it was not because he was thinking what answer to give; for, after having tossed off a glass of soda-water, he replied--

“If you want to live well, my dear fellow, you must go to Manchuria. Salmon, I tell you--ah! and they cost next to nothing--and pretty girls in abundance! You can buy furs, too, for next to nothing at all. What costs in St. Petersburg ten thousand rubles, you can get in China, up there in the north, for a hundred.”

“Then of course you have brought some beautiful furs with you?”

“Furs in India? they would be eaten by the ants in a second. For my own personal use, I have certainly brought one with me, which in St. Petersburg would be worth, at the least, five thousand rubles. I shall have use enough for it later on, in the mountains. You can smell it a mile away, it has been pickled so well.”

Again there was a short pause, and then after gazing intently at his vis-a-vis, Heideck suddenly said--

“You are an officer?”

Without being able to collect himself the Russian stared into his face.

“Let us be candid with each other,” he rejoined, after long reflection. “You are also a soldier, sir?”

“I need not deny it in reply to a comrade. My name is Captain Hermann Heideck of the Prussian General Staff.”

The Russian rose and made a correct bow. “And my name is Prince Fedor Andreievitch Tchajawadse, Captain in the Preobraschensky regiment of the Guards.”

They then once more touched glasses: “To ourselves as good comrades” rang their mutual toast.

“Comrade, I will tell you something,” said the Russian. “General Ivanov is on the march towards the Indian frontier. The Tsar has given up his theosophy; he intends to declare war upon England.”

Heideck would have wished to learn more, but the Prince had addressed himself to the good liquor somewhat more than his head could stand, and he began to sing indecent French chansons, only to pass of a sudden to melancholy Russian popular songs. In his present condition it was impossible to think of continuing a sensible conversation with him further.

Heideck already found himself somewhat perplexed what to do with his intoxicated guest, when a new surprise was sprung upon him. The door to the next room opened and a tall, handsome young fellow, of at most eighteen years, appeared on the threshold.

He was garbed in a sort of fantastic page’s dress, which in any other country but that of rainbow-hued picturesque India would have looked like that of a masquerader. The blue gold-embroidered jacket was girded with a red silk scarf, and the loose red trousers disappeared at the knees in patent leather topboots, the elegant shape of which showed the contour of the smallest of feet. Thick golden locks fell like waves almost down to the shoulders of the boyish youth. The handsome oval face had the complexion of a blushing rose; the great, blue eyes, however, showed the energy of a strong will.

As soon as the Prince had set eyes on the young visitor, he stopped singing.

“Ah! Georgi?” he stammered.

Without uttering a syllable, the page had advanced towards him, and had quickly raised the intoxicated man from the chair. Prince Tchajawadse flung his arm round the boy’s shoulders, and without bidding his German comrade as much as “good night,” allowed himself to be led away.

Heideck did not doubt for a moment that this slender page was a girl in disguise. The splendid build and the strange expression of untamed energy in the admirably regular features were the unmistakable characteristics of the Circassian type. This so-called Georgi could be none other but a child of the Caucasian Mountains; and Tchajawadse also, as his name showed, was a scion of those old Caucasian dynastic houses which in days of yore had played a role in that mountain land, which Russia had so slowly, and with such difficulty, finally subjugated.

THE CIRCASSIAN BEAUTY

Captain Heideck’s statement that he travelled for a Hamburg firm was not really an untruth. As a matter of fact he was engaged in commercial undertakings, which served as a cloak for the real object of his travels.

He had been commissioned by the chief of the General Staff to study the Indian military organisation, and, in particular, the strategic importance of the North-west frontier, and for this purpose unlimited leave had been granted him.

But the General had expressly stated to him--

“You travel as a private gentleman, and should you come into conflict with the English, we shall in no manner accept responsibility for your actions and adventures. We furnish you with a passport in your own name, but, of course, without denoting your military rank. It is also a matter of course that we should not fail to disclose it in case inquiries are addressed to us in this regard. In a certain sense you may be said to travel at your own risk. Your own tact must be your safest guide.”

Hereupon Heideck entered into correspondence with his uncle, and received from him the necessary letters of introduction to his Indian agents. He reached the northern provinces by way of Bombay and Allahabad, visiting on the way all the more important garrison towns--Cawnpore, Lucknow, Delhi, and Lahore. After finishing his business in Chanidigot, his intention was to proceed further north, making his way to Afghanistan by way of the Khyber Pass. It was purely with a view to this journey that he had wished to become more intimate with the Russian. He was absolutely certain that the Russian had received a commission from his Government similar to his own, and certain hints that the Prince had let drop strengthened his opinion that the latter intended to take the same route as himself. Accordingly, it could only redound to the advantage of the German officer if he joined his Russian comrade, who would be in a position to procure him valuable introductions when once on Russian territory.

When Heideck woke early the next morning the Prince’s potent bowl of the evening before made itself perceptible in various disagreeable after effects; but the cold bath that Morar Gopal got ready for him, added to a cup of tea, put him on his legs again.

It was an Indian morning of dazzling beauty into which he stepped. February in the Indus Valley in 29 degrees longitude has a temperature like that of May in Rome. In the hours of midday the thermometer usually rises to 100 degrees Fahr.; but the evenings are refreshingly cool, and the nights, with their damp fogs, even appreciably chilly.