For the last three years all that north part of Kashmir, and right away south-west to the Punjab borders, has been honoured with visits from plausible Russian gentlemen who may come down by the ordinary caravan routes, or, on the other hand, may not.

They turn up quite suddenly with tooth-brushes and dressing-cases, and they can't have come from the south.

They fool around in Bardur, and then go down to Gilgit, and, I suppose, on to the Punjab.

They've got excellent manners, and they hang about the clubs and give dinners and charm the whole neighbourhood.

Logan is their bosom friend, and Thwaite declares that their society reconciles him to the place.