And
then in a second the lights went out, each blown by a fan from behind
the silken hangings.
They heard her silvery laugh, and they heard her spring to the
floor. In cold, creeping sweat they listened to footsteps, and a
little voice whispered in Hindustani:
"This way, sahibs!"
They followed, since there was nothing else to do and their pride
was all gone, to be pushed and pulled by unseen hands and chuckling
girls down stairs that were cut out of sheer blackness. And at the
foot of the dark a voice that Warrington recognized shed new interest
but no light on the mystery.
"Salaam, sahibs," said a fat babu, backing through a door in front
of them and showing himself silhouetted against the lesser outer
darkness. "Seeing regimental risaldar on the box seat, I took
liberty. The risaldar-major is sending this by as yet unrewarded
messenger, and word to the effect that back way out of burning house
was easier than front way in. He sends salaam. I am unrewarded
messenger."
He slipped something into Colonel Kirby's hands, and Kirby struck a
match to examine it. It was Ranjoor Singh's ring that had the
regimental crest engraved on it.
"Not yet rewarded!" said the babu.
Let the strong take the wall of the weak,
(And there's plenty of room in the dust!)
Let the bully be brave, but the meek
No more in the way than he must.
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