Tristram still held Lalloo by the shoulder.
"You—you saved us," he stammered thickly. "You saved us—didn't you know me better than that——"
Lalloo rubbed his thin dark hands and smiled vaguely.
"What have I done, Sahib?" he said. "What have I done?" And with an amazing facility freed himself and glided into the shadow of the deserted village.
They went on, not speaking, not looking at each other, sick with the horror of that which they had left behind them. At the door of Tristram's hut a man came running towards them. It was the captain of the native regiment, cursing volubly.
"Tristram—where the devil have you been? What's happened! What set them off?"
"Meredith—preaching the love of God to Siva."
"Oh, damn the parsons!" He mopped his face in helpless exasperation. "Well, I've had a nice time of it. Men vanished into thin air. They've been queer for months—now they've gone. Anyhow, I shall have to stick to it—overawe them with my presence and all that." Even in that moment, his English good-humour prevailed. "Give us a hand, Tristram—you've influence with them. What's happened to Meredith?"
"I don't know——"
"Well, we'll try and get him out. Miss Fersen, you stay quietly in there. There's no getting away just yet. If neither of us get back, there'll be relief from Gaya as soon as they get wind of this shindy. Come on, Hermit!"