But there was no need, for one of the party, a venerable-looking, grey-headed man in a white turban, salaamed, and then waited with crossed arms to be questioned.
“Salaam, sahib,” he said humbly.
“Where are you from?” said Brace.
“Arbagh, sahib. You come too late.”
“Too late? What is their trouble, then?”
“Trouble, sahib? The mem sahibs, and the little children and their fathers—”
He did not finish, but groaned.
“Speak out. What is it?”
“All slain.”
“But there was a regiment there—a whole regiment of foot.”