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 another, who had been inside the suite, at that moment pushed his way out and overheard the question.

“It’s nothing really serious, madam,” he said. “An Indian Prince who had applied for rooms was being shown round, when he took a fancy to enter that suite—occupied by Mr. Clinton Ziegler. The Prince is in there now, and nothing will induce him to leave peaceably, as he can’t be made to understand that the rooms are engaged. He doesn’t appear to know much English, but I am going for one of the curry cooks, who will doubtless be able to interpret for us.”

“No need to waste time in fetching the cook,” interposed the General. “I speak most of the Indian dialects, and I dare say I can get him to quit.”

“You’d better be careful, then, sir,” said the attendant. “He pretty nearly strangled Mr. Ziegler’s secretary when he tried to put him out.”

Disdaining the warning and accepting the implied permission, the General elbowed his way into the invaded territory, from which, after a couple of minutes, he emerged with a tall Asiatic who was wreathed in apologetic