"Suppose she objects?"
Kerth smiled—an expression that was almost sinister because of his dark, satanic features.
"That's the point: she must not object!" After a pause he resumed: "The Old Man wanted that firmly impressed. In some way or other she must be forced to agree to that condition. You're the diplomat of this expedition; that means it's up to you. So said the Old Man. I'm to be the connecting link between you and the Department."
"Is that keeping faith with her?"
"According to the letter of the contract, yes; morally, no. As I understand it, she demanded your word of honor you wouldn't 'communicate' any information. Therefore, you must not; what I don't hear and learn for myself is the Department's loss. Neat way of beating the devil around the bush, isn't it?"
It was not visible upon Trent's face whether or not he agreed with Kerth. However, his next question hinted negatively.
"If she discovers you're not Rawul Din, the Rajput, what then?"
Kerth shrugged. "Adrushtam!" he said, which means, "It is Fate!" Then he lighted a cheroot and leaned upon his elbows, a queer smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "It means this, major," he continued. "If she's loyal, as the Old Man believes, she will either be very angry and throw over the whole business, or overlook it and simply demand that espionage be discontinued. But"—his face, veiled by smoke, looked more satanic than ever—"if she isn't loyal, then—well, we'll both probably...." He finished with a lift of his eyebrows.
Trent watched the bronze-haired girl as she left the dining-hall—as did others, for she was a type to draw eyes.
"To-night's the test," Kerth observed aloud. "If you succeed in forcing your point, good. Otherwise, I return to Delhi." He looked at his watch. "It's close to seven now, and my metamorphosis will require some time. Shall we adjourn?"