“Of course,” said Wyatt.—“There, Dick Darrell, you see what a mess you have got us all in by taking a fancy to the old Ranee’s pretty playthings.”
“It is a lie,” cried the Indian officer, turning upon Wyatt fiercely. “The Dah Rel is a brave soldier. He would not do such a thing.”
“Thank you,” said Dick, smiling and taking the messengers hand. “But Captain Wyatt does not mean it.”
“Mean it? No, old fellow,” said Wyatt, clapping the officer on the shoulder. “Then you do not believe all this story about the stealing?”
“No; it is a plot—a trick,” cried the messenger fiercely. “But he does—now. It is the Ranee—and the cursed dogs of her party. It was peace, and all would have been well for Soojeepur, and we should have been strong in the friendship of the English, so that we could defy all our foes; but now the Ranee will come to the front again, the Wazir will rule, the Brahmins will master him, and the poor Rajah will be a doll amongst them, if they do not poison him out of the way. But I must obey my orders. Go and tell what I have said, and my head will roll upon the pavement in the court.”
“You are not afraid of that,” said Dick.
“No. How soon will the sahibs be ready?”
“Now,” said Hulton firmly, “as soon as our servants have put together our things.”
“The escort of my men will be waiting in the court in half-an-hour’s time,” said the officer shortly, and he turned and left the room.
“I want to fight,” said Wyatt grimly.