" He spread a sheet of canvas on
the table, thereby confounding all Gribton's hospitable manoeuvring.
"There," said Gribton, his eyes now free from drowsiness, and clear and
bright, "that's the road I fear."
"But these three inches are unknown," said Lewis. "I have been myself
as far as these hills."
Gribton looked sharply up. "You don't know the place as I know it.
I've never been so far, but I know the sheep-skinned devils who come
across from Turkestan. I tell you that place isn't the impenetrable
craggy desert that the Government of India thinks it. There's a road
there of some sort, and if you're worth your salt you'll find it out."
"I know," said Lewis. "I am going to try."
"There's another thing. For the last three years all that north part of
Kashmir, and right away south-west to the Punjab borders, has been
honoured with visits from plausible Russian gentlemen who may come down
by the ordinary caravan routes, or, on the other hand, may not. They
turn up quite suddenly with tooth-brushes and dressing-cases, and they
can't have come from the south. They fool around in Bardur, and then go
down to Gilgit, and, I suppose, on to the Punjab. They've got excellent
manners, and they hang about the clubs and give dinners and charm the
whole neighbourhood. Logan is their bosom friend, and Thwaite declares
that their society reconciles him to the place.
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