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 had quickly perceived that it was the Duke’s intention to leave the park by the wicket gate, and, considering it his duty not to lose sight of him, he had climbed the wall and followed. Avoiding the village street, Beaumanoir had struck into a series of lanes which presently brought him back into the main road beyond the farthest habitation. Thenceforward, with Azimoolah shadowing him, he had commenced a tramp which lasted between two and three hours, and finally ended at a railway station in a fair-sized country town.

“You ascertained the name of the town?” asked the General.

Yes, after the train had steamed away Azimoolah had not omitted to inquire the name of the town. It was Tring. He had also inquired at the booking-office where the Duke had taken a ticket for, but the clerk had refused the information with a rude remark about the color of his skin—a remark which, east of Suez, might have brought him a taste of cold steel.

“And then, Sahib,” concluded the narrator, “without bite or sup I started to run back again, being sore afraid lest thy heart should be troubled by these things.”