He softened a little as he perceived this.
"Pray don't be agitated," he said. "I do not for a moment question that your reason for what you did was a good one. I am only asking you to tell me what it was."
"I know," she answered. "But it will make you angry, and that is why I hesitate."
He leaned towards her slightly.
"Can it matter to you whether I am angry or not?"
She shivered a little.
"I never offend any one if I can help it. I think it is a mistake. However, you have asked for it. What happened was this. It was when you left me to get some water. An old man, a native, came and spoke to me. Perhaps I was foolish to listen, but I could scarcely have done otherwise. And he told me—he told me that the accident to the dog-cart was not—not—" She paused, searching for a word.
"Genuine," suggested Fletcher very quietly.
She accepted the word. The narration was making her very nervous.
"Yes, genuine. He told me that the saice had cracked the shaft beforehand, that there was no possibility of getting it repaired at Farabad, that he would have to return to Kundaghat and might not, probably would not, come back for us before the following morning."