“No, sir; there’s no one here.”
“You don’t believe me?” said Dick hotly.
“Well, old boy, you were talking about niggers coming in at windows to steal it before you went to bed, and you might have dreamed it. I think I was fancying something of the kind when I was woke up by the row.”
“Oh, very well,” said Dick shortly; “but I know.”
“Don’t be huffy, old boy,” said the captain; and as a flash came in at the window he caught sight of the trophy on the wall. “I say: the tulwar’s all right.”
“Because he hadn’t time to get it. Hff! how the beast wrenched me about! He was slippery as an eel.—Ah! Now then!” cried Dick triumphantly; “smell my hands.”
Wyatt caught his brother-officer’s wrists and raised the extended hands to his face. “Hallo!” he said. “Rancid oil.”
“Yes; he was covered with it.”
“Here, get a light,” cried Wyatt. “Has either of you been oiling himself?”
“No, sahib,” said Ram Dad. “It’s the Sahib Darrell, all cover, and come off.”