Dashing on Dermot shouted Daleham's name. From behind a barricade of boxes on the verandah a stern voice which he recognised as belonging to one of the Punjaubi servants whom he had provided, called out:
"Kohn hai? Kohn atha? (Who is there? Who comes?)"
"Sher Afzul! It is I. Dermot Sahib," he replied, as he sprang up the verandah steps.
The muzzle of a rifle was pointed at him over the barricade, and a bearded face peered at him.
"It is the Major Sahib!" said the Mohammedan. "In the name of Allah, Sahib, have you brought your sepoys?"
"No; I am alone. Where are the Sahib and the missie baba?"
"In the bungalow. Enter, Sahib."
Dermot climbed over the barricade and pushed open the door of the dining-room, which was in darkness. But the heavy curtain dividing it from the drawing-room was dragged aside and Daleham appeared in the doorway, outlined against the faint light of a turned-down lamp. Behind him Noreen was rising from a chair.
"Who's there?" cried the boy, raising a revolver.
"It's all right, Daleham. It's I, Dermot. I'm alone, I'm sorry to say."