"So he nosed you out, did he?
Knows his duty--good dog, Tumbu! Knows his master now! Knows who saved him from starvation when he was lurking about in the gutter.

Eh! you brute!" He lunged a kick at Tumbu, who retreated a step, looking from the new to the old master, feeling, in truth, a trifle confused.

For the Afghan sentry had certainly found him homeless, friendless, and the dog had stuck by him, feeling that here at least was something vaguely connected with the past life.

But now he stood doubtful, expectant, his little ears pricked, his small eyes watchful.
"Well," continued the sentry with a half-drunken laugh, "dog or no dog, you've no business here, so come along with me, my King." He reached out a heavy hand, and Roy shrunk from it.

As he did so there came a sound which sent the blood to Roy's heart with a spasm of instant hope, of possible escape.