Barclay shrugged his shoulders.
"Is it not mine also?"
A faint hauteur compressed the fine lips. He turned away and lifted the edge of the curtain.
"I give you great thanks, Barclay Sahib."
"I ask no thanks of you, Ayeshi. You will find a horse at the gates. But first, can there be no trust between us? Can you not tell me whither you are going and to what end?"
Ayeshi turned, measuring the other man with a grave, scornful deliberation.
"I have learnt to keep my counsel where there is English blood," he said. He did not see the expression which passed like a withering flame over his companion's features. He lifted his hand in salutation, and the curtains fell noiselessly behind him.
Barclay waited, motionless. His breathing was quick and shallow, his whole body tense with pent-up excitement. As the muffled sound of hoofs reached him he turned the light out and the next instant was running towards the compound gates.
A syce leading a horse by the bridle came out of the shadow. Without a word Barclay caught the helmet and long cloak which was held out to him and swung himself lightly into the saddle.
"Which way?"