“No go down there, sahib,” said Dost, softly.
I shook my head, and followed him to the end, where a stronger light shone up, and on looking down there, we found that the officers were collected, as if waiting for orders.
Dost shook his head again, and walked back along the roof, with the grounds on our left, the well-filled square on the right, and the dark end of the large summer-house before us.
There everything was black, and we had no need for caution in looking over.
I could not help shuddering as I drew back my head, on hearing a loud slapping noise below me, and a peculiar whishing, rushing sound.
“No,” said Dost. “No boat. Muggers. Can’t go that way.”
For the swift river was gliding by just beneath the walls of the summer-house; whose windows looked down upon what by day would be doubtless a lovely scene, but which now was gloomy and repulsive in the extreme.
“What shall we do, then?” I asked.
“Wait,” said Dost, quietly, and he unwound the rope from me, and carefully made it into a coil, which he passed over his left arm.
“Wouldn’t it be better to stop till later? They will not search this place again.”