She was down the stairs again as he was wheeling the cycle into the hall, the still wet telegram loose in his hand.
'Hold that a minute,' he said, 'that tyre wants a pump--it will save time in the end. It wouldn't do to have a smash--would it?' He spoke quite cheerfully.
'No!' she replied, smiling back as she helped him. 'Not if there is going to be a "weal wow," as Jerry calls it.'
'Something very like one, anyhow!' he answered. 'And you never can tell what may happen if these things aren't stopped at once. We might have them all over the place by to-morrow morning--trying to pull down the flag perhaps--who knows?' He spoke lightly again, but for all that he had thought it worth while to pocket a revolver, which had been lying on Captain Lloyd's table; and as Lesley passed out first, with her bicycle, he gave a look at the weapon to see how many chambers were loaded; that was always a wise precaution.
So, being busy, neither of them saw a little figure in a scarlet flannel sleeping-suit which had stealthily followed Lesley downstairs; a listening little figure with wide grey eyes.
The next instant those two were careering down the Mall, fast as wheels could carry them.
'It is a quaint cipher,' said Lesley, who, hands off, was folding the now dry telegram.
'Yes!' replied Jack Raymond absently--he was working out what had to be done. 'I might send it plain, but for the cachet of authority--Heaven save the mark!--it gives. And, of course, the contents are better not known, even by the baboo. But I'm afraid he must know something; for I must first of all wire direct to the station-master at Fareedabad to stop the up-mail--there isn't time for the order to go through the magistrate. And that's really the thing to make sure of, for the down-mail doesn't pass Fareedabad till midnight, and it would take almost as long to get steam up from here--especially as it is Sunday and the railway people all over the place.'
There were not many of them certainly in the wide deserted station, which echoed under their hurrying feet. Indeed, barring a few would-be native passengers, huddled up listlessly in their shawls waiting on the steps outside for the train, which experience told them would come sooner or later--figures common to every railway station in India--not a human being was visible. That, too, was nothing uncommon, when trains come four or five times a day at least. And the up-mail had passed but a short time before; so all things were at their slackest after that excitement.
'There must be some one, somewhere!' remarked Jack Raymond, 'and if not, I must break in to the telegraph-office, and you must signal.' Then he laughed. 'You are leading me horribly astray, Miss Drummond. I shall be transported for life before I know where I am.'