"Let the dogs do what they like," was the reply.

"We shall not let the sahib go alone." Tea and cigarettes discussed, a start was made for the palace.

The Wazir, on a wiry, good looking bay horse, and attended by half a dozen mounted Afghans, led the way, and I followed on a pony borrowed of the telegraph clerk.

My costume was, if not becoming, at any rate original: high boots, flannel trousers, and shirt, an evening dress-coat, and astrakhan cap.

Gerome's wardrobe being even less presentable, I deemed it prudent to leave him behind.