Swift as a well
launched charge of light cavalry, he leaped for the stairs and took
them four at a time. He reached the top one sooner than he knew it.
The torch flashed in his eyes, and he saw a pistol-mouth just beyond
arm-reach.
"Stand, Ranjoor Singh!" said a voice that he felt sure he
recognized. His eyes began to search beyond the light for glimpses of
dim outline.
"Back, Ranjoor Singh! Back to the right--toward that door! In,
through that door--so!"
He obeyed, since he knew now with whom he had to deal. There was no
sense at all in taking liberties with Yasmini. He stepped into a
bare, dark, teak-walled room, and she followed him, and she had
scarcely closed the door at her back before another door opened at
the farther end, and two of her maids appeared, carrying candle-lamps.
"What do you want with me?" demanded Ranjoor Singh.
"Nay! Did I invite the sahib?"
"I came about a murderer who entered by that door through which I
came."
"To pay him the reward, perhaps?" she asked impudently.
"Is this thy house?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"This is the House-of-the-Eight-Half-brothers, sahib."
"This is a hole where murderers hide! A man of mine was slain in the
street below, and the murderer came in here. Where is he now?"
"He and the bigger fool who followed him," said Yasmini, poising
herself like a nodding blossom and smiling like the promise of new
love, as she paused to be insolent and let the insolence sink home,
"are at my mercy!"
Ranjoor Singh did not answer, but she could draw no amusement from
his silence, for his eye was unafraid.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142