a quarter blucher whose owner the next second opened the cablegram.
“Gloops, London, England,” he read; and the message continued, in a typical Babu jumble of mixed metaphors and martyrized slang:
“Regret to report old Ameer jolly well popped underground. But ripping old silver lining to proverbial thunderstorm. Have discovered bloody cinch of pinching whole bally swag if Gloops uses gray matter. Do not cable here as have smashed expensive instruments into smithereens and cocked hat to annoy and harass the competition. Cable instead to Teheran using code. Am hot-legging it there like a sizzling whirlwind. Beg to repeat that collaring of swag is no end of ripping old cinch. Am writing particulars. Tell Gloops meanwhile should look up Burke's Peerage find bally old nobility family whose escutcheon is double headed lion and establish with them jolly old social relations.
“My sainted grandaunt Priscilla Mary Jane!” murmured the sandy-haired man. “The whole swag! My word! Won't the guv'nor be pleased though! But what in the name of the three-cornered dooce does that Bansi lad mean by his allusion to Burke's Peerage? Well—I fancy the guv'nor will know.”
And he lit a rank woodbine cigarette and resumed the inspiring study of Poultney's Inn, drumming loudly, at rhythmic intervals, on the window pane.
