Barclay entered; Vahana, at his heels, lingered sinisterly in the shadow, but Barclay strode straight forward, his arrogant eyes flashing from one face to the other. He held himself as he had always longed to hold himself—as the master, as the more than equal. He looked straight at Tristram, and in that steadfast regard there was satisfaction, an almost voluptuous foreknowledge of satiated passions.
"You are my prisoner," he said.
"Whom do you represent, Mr. Barclay?"
"The Rajah Ayeshi." He saw, or thought he saw, amusement in Tristram's eyes, and pointed to the open doorway—"and two thousand armed men."
"Is this Ayeshi's order?"
"It is my order—Rajah Ayeshi accepts my leadership."
"Then it was you who murdered Rasaldû and Mr. Meredith?"
He smiled.
"And others. Believe me, there will be no living white man or woman in Gaya by midnight—my wife excepted." He made Sigrid a little satirical bow. "In spite of circumstances, I am glad of the chance to make that exception. My wife will follow me."
"Your wife is waiting for you in Gaya," she answered. She felt rather than saw Anne lift herself on her elbow. She felt Tristram's movement and added simply: "Mr. Barclay was married years ago. My marriage with him was illegal, and I am free."