Some one wanted to know where you were.

They'll know about it at Cairo.

We just pushed it along, you know," said the aide-de-camp.

He dined with Hillyard, admired his heads, arranged for his sleeping compartment, and assured him that the execution had gone off "very nicely" at Senga.
"Luttrell made a palaver, and his patent drop worked as well as anything in Pentonville, and every one went home cheered up and comfortable.
Luttrell's a good man." Thus Hillyard took the train to Wadi Haifa in a chastened mood.
Obviously the message was of very little, if indeed of any, importance.
A man can hardly swing up to extravagant hopes without dropping to sarcastic self-reproaches on his flightiness and vanity.

He was not aware that the young aide-de-camp pushed aside some pressing work to make sure that he did go on the train; or that when the last carriage disappeared towards the great bridge, the aide-de-camp cried, "Well, that's that," like a man who has discharged one task at all events of the many left to his supervision.
One consequence of Hillyard's new humility was that he now loitered on his journey.