The difficulty lies in the reason. Three thousand square
miles or so of mountain cannot be so dangerous. One would think that
the whole Afghan nation was meditating a descent on the Amu Daria." He
glanced up at his companion, and the two men saw the same anxiety in
each other's eyes.
"Anything more of Marka?" asked Wratislaw.
"Nothing definite. He is somewhere in the Pamirs, up to some devilry or
other. Oh, by the by, there is something I have forgotten. I found out
the other day that our gentleman had been down quite recently in
south-west Kashmir. He was Arthur Marker at the time, the son of a
German count and a Scotch mother, you understand. Immensely popular,
too, among natives and Europeans alike. He went south from Bardur, and
apparently returned north by the Punjab. At Bardur, Logan and Thwaite
were immensely fascinated, Gribton remained doubtful. Now the good
Gribton is coming home, and so he will have the place for a happy
hunting-ground."
Wratislaw was puffing his under-lip in deep thought. "It is a sweet
business," he said. "But what can we do? Only wait?"
"Yes, one could wait if Marka were the only disquieting feature. But
what about Taghati and the Russian activity? What on earth is going on
or about to go on in this square inch of mountain land to make all the
pother? If it is a tribal war on a first-class scale then we must know
about it, for it is in the highest degree our concern too.
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