Travers shifted his position carelessly. Stafford had not succeeded in frightening him. He did not believe in native rebellions. What he had seen of the Hindu character convinced him of its fundamental cowardice and incapability for independent action.
"A few blank cartridges will bring the Rajah very quickly to his senses," he assured Stafford, with perfect good-humor. "We have nothing to be afraid of in that quarter."
"You really think that?" Stafford demanded significantly. "Knowing what you know, you think we have no cause to fear him?"
Travers changed color. The uneasy flicker in his eyes returned.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"You know very well. You know whom we shall be fighting against."
"Of course—a headlong, inexperienced Hindu prince—"
"You are choosing to have a very short memory. Nehal Singh is more than that."
Travers stood upright. The healthy glow had died out of his cheeks.
"Look here, Stafford," he said roughly, "what is it you want? I can see you want something."