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EX-KING OF AFGHANISTAN

same care he had taken when preparing for a stroll to
his favourite cafe in his native town. He was always
formally dressed, scrupulously polite, tire a quatre
tpingles. Signor Pierri, I feared, was not the type of
an Empire builder. . . .

Amanullah had come back. It was impossible to,
ignore the effect in Kabul. The bazaar was seething
with rumour packed on rumour. There were lively dis-
cussions in the shops, in the streets, in the serais, and
the samovar shops. Officials had risen with a new spirit
of energy and attention to their affairs. Even the police
had girded their loins and swaggered through Kabul
with more resounding cuffs for the loiterers, more frantic
arguments with the drivers of mule teams, more sum-
mary convictions and fines for the transgressors of the
law.

Amanullah was back. Tales were being told of his
dash across the mountain roads from the Northern
Frontier; of his outpacing of the cars containing his
suite ; of his anxiety to be back at the helm of Govern-
ment ; of the way the hillmen had first heard a roar
through the mountains, then seen a cloud of dust, and
then seen a flash of silver, as Amanullah, at the wheel
of a long sleek Rolls Royce, had shot over the rough
mountain roads, bumped over the rough bridges crossing
the streams, eventually swung into Kabul, dusty and
fatigued.

Kabul was electrified with a new spirit. There was
a new tension about the Palace. What next, what next ?
For in the midst of a chaotic time, when the finances
seemed to stagger under the load, these vast changes
still continued and the men of Kabul were not content
with a mere marking time. What next in Afghanistan ?

In the midst of the scurry at the Palace, I still found
an amiable and leisurely individual who sought my

K 145