"Suppose we move to the dining-hall?" the latter suggested. "I'll finish what I have to say there."
Trent assented, and they rose and left the veranda.
As the purple-tongued shadows lapped them up, the last of the row of doors opened, and the girl with the bronze hair came out and moved after them toward the dining-hall.
2
"In other words," said Kerth, as a soft-shod "boy" arrayed the meal before them, "you are to deliver yourself blindfolded into the hands of this Swaying Cobra, and if she says go to the moon, then, according to the Old Man, you're to go there, without questioning."
Trent listened, apparently abstractedly, for he was studying the amazingly clear profile of the girl at the next table. Punkahs, worked by electricity, disturbed straying tendrils of reddish-gold hair.
"The woman mystifies me as much as the affair itself," Kerth went on. "Who is she? It's evident the Old Man trusts her—to a degree. From her name, 'Swaying Cobra,' I'd judge she's a nautch, yet, on the other hand, I'm inclined to think she's above that. Fact is, the Old Man was too infernally secretive about her; seemed afraid he'd tell me something. However, he isn't absolutely sure of her. If he was, I wouldn't be here."
A tourist, was Trent's conclusion. (For he was still studying the girl.) She choked over the greasy, peppery curry concoction. A moment later her soft voice floated to him as she spoke to her "boy."
"Confound him! Is he listening to me?" Kerth wondered. Then aloud, "My part is this: I'm to rig myself up as a native—a Rajput—and accompany you as your servant. My name will be Rawul Din."
Trent's eyes turned sharply from the girl to Kerth. He noticed, incidentally, that the latter's hair would need no lamp-black to make it like a native's.