"I must know what it was that Kneedrock saw," he pressed.
Her hands were gripping the mattress on either side of her—gripping it until her finger-nails doubled and then broke.
"And I must know why he was shot at," he added.
And then Nina, who had been doubling all the while, broke, too. Before Darling could reach her she pitched forward, a hunched heap on the floor.
CHAPTER VI
A Hard Man and Bitter
It was the next morning, and Nina's ayah sat on a chair in the passage, guarding the door of her mistress's room. To all comers she gave the same answer—her mem-sahib was sleeping after a night of wakefulness and must not be disturbed.
She gave it to Colonel Darling no less than three times—once before breakfast, once after, and again before he rode away for parade, his eyes bloodshot and his hands all a-tremble.
And all the while the room behind the door was as empty of life as a hatched egg-shell. For in the darkest hour of a gray dawn, closely veiled, Nina had stolen away with her ayah escorting, and had taken refuge with the Ramsays, who had a small bungalow within the hotel compound—the same hotel, be it added, which sheltered "Mr. Henry Scripps, Bombay."