Kerth nodded. "Most gloriously," he emphasized. "Look inside the locket—or whatever it is—and you'll see."
Again Trent felt the blood in his temples. But his hand was calm as he pressed a fingernail under the rim and opened the pendant. He bent low; peered intently. He made no exclamation as he saw the name that was engraved within—but his breathing quickened. He snapped the oval shut and sat with it gripped in his hand. The blood was still beating in his temples.
"As I told you," resumed Kerth, "Gilbert Leroux, the name that's written there, was Chavigny's last alias. Therefore, when Sarojini said he had nothing to do with the Order, she lied. And if she lied once, she's likely to do it again. Fact is, I don't trust her. I have a reason to believe she isn't playing the game just right."
"Yes?" Trent encouraged, while the name in the pendant sang itself in his ears with the roll of the carriage wheels.
"I'll have to be rather personal," was the slow statement; "embarrassingly so, I fear. Nevertheless, it's better that you know I know. Before I left Benares I sent a telegram to a friend, the Commissioner at Jehelumpore—you see, I knew you were stationed there at one time—asking if he knew whether—whether you and Sarojini Nanjee—well—"
He paused. Trent, smiling to himself, said: "Go on."
"When I reached Calcutta I received a letter from him by special post," Kerth continued. "He told me the whole story.... That's all. And for that reason—and because she lied about Chavigny—I believe you should be wary of her. Balked affection is an unruly mount to straddle, and when a woman plans to make a fool of a man because he doesn't pay her any attention, and the man by his wits turns the affair so that she is the fool—well, I'll say only that she's likely to cause trouble, especially if she has a Rajput strain in her blood."
Quiet followed. They rolled on toward the hotel. Trent was the first to speak.
"Just how did you do this?"—with a gesture that conveyed more than the speech.
In the semi-dark, unobserved, Kerth smiled.