“I don’t know; but evidently fugitives, and of importance. The woman came from the Palace; she was a Cashmere woman, I believe. The man was an English officer.”
Moghul Singh’s brow contracted, and he bit his lip. “My prisoner Harper, by the beard of Allah!” he exclaimed, wrathfully, “and the woman Haidee, or may my eyes never see daylight again. I have long suspected her of treachery. But they do not live now!” he added, significantly.
The man grinned as he replied—
“I am not certain.”
“Not certain!” repeated Bukht, angrily. “By the Prophet! rupee of thy master’s shall never again find its way to thy pouch if you failed.”
“You do not mean to say they escaped?” added Moghul menacingly.
“Keep your threats for your slaves,” answered Beg, with a defiant air. “As soon as I heard that these people were on the road, I set out to meet them; but they evidently did not follow the main road. I learned that they had entered the city. I returned. They made for the English quarters, and from there to the defences at the barracks. No opportunity presented itself until they were near the English guard; for the night was dark. But, as soon as I could, I sent two bullets after them, with as true an aim as was possible under the circumstances.”
“And you hit your mark, of course?” chimed in Moghul and Bukht together.
“One, at least, fell,” answered Beg; “but afraid that the report of the gun had alarmed the sentries, I retired. Later on I sought the spot; the bodies were not there, but there was a pool of blood. Whether the English, guided by the report, had come out and carried the bodies away, or whether only one of the two fell and the survivor carried the other off, I don’t know; but I believe one of my bullets for certain found the woman’s heart.”
“If that is so, I can forgive you for your bungling,” Moghul remarked between his set teeth. “I would not let her escape for a lac of rupees.”