“I don’t know. It’s only bazaar rumour, mind.”
“Now I think of it,” went on Upward, “there did seem rather more than usual of the evil-looking soors hanging about the platform. They’d all got tulwars too. By Jove—what if they were only waiting till the train had left to break out, and Ghazi the whole show? Oh, Lord! That puts things in a new light. There were enough of them to do it too.”
Fleming looked grave. “Then what about your friend and the Jermyns?” he said.
“Heavens, yes. Perhaps the soors waited until they had gone. Hallo, Miss Cheriton. What’s the matter?”
For Nesta had gone as pale as death—looking as if she would faint dead away.
“It’s nothing. I shall be all right again in a minute. Why do you suggest such horrible things?” she broke off quite angrily. “It is enough to upset one.”
Both men looked foolish—and all stared. The outburst was so unlike her.
“Let’s go and see if we can get at something definite,” said Upward, jumping up. “Did you drive here, Fleming?”
“No—biked.”
“All right I’ll jump on mine and we’ll spin round to McIvor’s. He may have got kubbur of sorts—but these Politicals are so dashed close.”