“No. Why?”

“Has quinine in it. Prevents malaria.”

“I suppose I did know that, actually.”

“They must’ve told you in training.”

“Yes,” said Juniper, nodding agreeably. “Just past that grove of banyan trees, then?” There was a slight, casual persistence in Lysander’s voice.

“Ever shot anything edible there?”

“Not to speak of. There are a few birds, not much on the ground. It’s poor sport.”

“So’s this whole country.” “Any more inspirational speech before I leave?”

“On your way.” Juniper stood up. “I’m sure I’ll see you for cocktails.”

But he wouldn’t, and the other man knew it. When Juniper had gone out of sight, Lysander leapt out of his chair and walked briskly up a small dirt path that led from the mess to his villa. The captain’s batman, his assistant and a lance corporal, was on the porch, whittling an Indian charm to send back to his mother. He had been working on it for weeks.

“Best go do it now,” Lysander said. “He’s off with Juniper. Both of them, would you? They’re hunting, out east, in that scrub.”

“Yes, sir,” said the batman, standing. Here rank still meant something.

“Do your best to make it look like an accident, obviously.” “Yes, sir.” Lysander paused. “By the way, that treasure?” “Yes, sir?” “There’s talk of a society. Don’t know what it’s to be called yet, and it will be for officers alone.”

“Sir?”

“But if you do right by us, we’ll do right by you.”

“Thank you, sir.” The batman ran off, and Lysander called to one of the servants, a fair Indian lad, swathed in brilliant pink and pale blue that contrasted with the dull beige of the landscape and the military man’s uniform. The boy with some sullenness came forward.

“That box,” Lysander barked. “Bring it to me. And it’s worth your life to open it before it gets here.”