Ted saluted and withdrew, greatly pleased by this signal mark of the confidence reposed in him. An hour after he had started, Ensign Tynan in his turn was standing before Sir John Lawrence.
“And so you believe that Russell meant to ruin your reputation out of spite? That is a very grave accusation, young man.”
“I can’t help it, sir. It’s a fact, and my word is as good as his, and I have witnesses whilst he has none.”
“Native evidence, I must remind you, Mr. Tynan, is not difficult to obtain. However, I cannot decide between you, and I have not sent for you to discuss that affair.”
He proceeded to give Tynan a similar letter and precisely the same instructions and warning as those given to Ted. Tynan repaired to Colonel Bratherton, who supplied him with an escort consisting of Pir Baksh and two troopers, and with these he set out for Amritsar.
Night closed in with Indian abruptness before Tynan had covered half the distance. Suddenly a body of horsemen blocked the way. Tynan drew a pistol, but before he could take aim his arms were seized by the troopers of the escort, and he was roughly dragged to the ground. A search was made, and the letter was quickly brought to light.
Pir Baksh had been seized in like manner and was dropped beside Tynan, bound hand and foot. Tynan recognized the uniform of his assailants as that of the 60th Native Cavalry, and he remembered hearing that this rebel corps had been hovering about this stretch of the Grand Trunk Road for some days. The two troopers of his escort declared for the rebels at the first hint of danger. Somehow Harry Tynan was much more cool and collected than on the last occasion of a similar experience, and he was not nearly so frightened. Perhaps the explanation can be found in the fact that his present state of existence was so miserable that no change could be greatly for the worse.
The sowars took little notice of their prisoner. Two native officers, who seemed to have some knowledge of English, were eagerly scrutinizing Sir John’s communication, the rest looking on. But the missive was evidently a poser, and the expressions of triumph changed to annoyance and chagrin as they shook their heads and gave up the puzzle.
“They will understand it,” said one. “Make them explain.”
The speaker nodded towards the prostrate captives, who were quickly kicked into a sitting posture and ordered to supply the key to the cipher. Pir Baksh was eagerness itself. He hastened to assure them that nothing would delight him more.