"But I have not lied, mem-sahib." There was earnest assurance in Hanani's voice—such assurance as could not be disregarded. "I have told you the truth. The captain sahib is not dead. It was a false report."
"Hanani! Are you—sure?" Stella's hand gripped the ayah's shoulder with convulsive, strength. "Then who—who—was the sahib they shot in the jungle—the sahib who died at the bungalow of Ralston sahib? Did—Hafiz—tell you that?"
"That—" said Hanani, and paused as if considering how best to present the information,—"that was another sahib."
"Another sahib?" Stella was trembling violently. Her hold upon Hanani was the clutch of desperation, "Who—what was his name?"
She felt in the momentary pause that followed that the eyes behind the veil were looking at her strangely, speculatively. Then very softly Hanani answered her.
"His name, mem-sahib, was Dacre."
"Dacre!" Stella repeated the name blankly. It seemed to hold too great a meaning for her to grasp.
"So Hafiz told Hanani," said the ayah.
"But—Dacre!" Stella hung upon the name as if it held her by a fascination from which she could not shake free. "Is that—all you know?" she said at last.
"Not all, my mem-sahib," answered Hanani, in the soothing tone of one who instructs a child. "Hafiz knew the sahib in the days before Hanani came to Kurrumpore. Hafiz told a strange story of the sahib. He had married and had taken his wife to the mountains beyond Srinagar. And there an evil fate had overtaken him, and she—the mem-sahib—had returned alone."