"Yes, thanks. Good-morning," replied the soldier. "Come in. No, wait a
minute."

He jumped out of bed and removed the barricade. Barclay entered in his
pyjamas. Lowering his voice he said:

"Anything happen during the night?"

"I don't think so. I slept soundly and heard nothing. You're up early,"
replied the soldier, picking up the blankets and sheets from the floor and
spreading them carelessly on the bed to make it look as if he had used
them.

"Yes; those infernal birds make such a confounded row. It's like being in
an aviary," said Barclay.

Dermot threw open the wooden shutters. Outside the window was a small
balcony. On the roofs and verandahs of the Palace scores of grey-hooded
crows were perched, filling the air with discordant sounds. Up in the pale
blue sky the wheeling hawks whistled shrilly. Down in the courtyard below
yellow-beaked _mynas_ chattered volubly.

"Don't they make a beastly row? How is a fellow to sleep?" grumbled
Barclay. "Look at that cheeky beggar."

A hooded crow perched on the railing of the balcony and, apparently
resenting his remarks, cawed defiantly at him. The Deputy Superintendent
picked up one of Dermot's slippers and was about to hurl it at the bird,
when a voice from the doorway startled him.

"_Char, Huzoor!_ (Tea, Your Excellency!)"

He looked round. One of the Palace servants stood at the door holding a
tray containing tea and buttered toast.

Dermot directed the man to put the tray on the dressing-table, and when the
servant had salaamed and left the room, he walked over to it and looked at
the food.

"Now, is it safe to eat that?" he said. "I've no fear of the grub they
serve in the dining-hall, for they wouldn't dare to poison us all. But
somehow I have my doubts about any nice little meal prepared exclusively
for me."

"I think you're right there, Major," said Barclay, who was sitting on the
edge of the bed.

"We'll see. There isn't the usually handy pi-dog to try it on. But we'll
make use of our noisy friend here. He won't be much loss to the world if it
poisons him," and Dermot broke off a piece of the toast and threw it on the
floor of the balcony. The crow stopped his cawing, cocked his head on one
side, and eyed the tempting morsel. Buttered toast did not often come his
way. He dropped down on to the balcony floor, hopped over to the toast,
pecked at it, picked it up in his strong beak, and flew with it to the roof
of the building opposite. In silenc