The Rajput inclined his head submissively. "Then is my duty all but done, hazoor. Thrice hath the warning been given thee. There be still four-and-twenty hours in which, it may be, thou shalt learn to see clearly. My lord, I ask of thee a single favour. Wilt thou follow me?" He motioned toward the arched entrance to the passageway.
"Follow thee?" Amber at length dropped into Urdu, unconsciously adopting the easier form of communication now that, he felt, the issue between them was plain, that the Rajput laboured under no further misunderstanding as to the reason of his presence in Khandawar. "Whither?"
"There is that which I must show thee."
"What?"
"My life be forfeit if thou dost not return unharmed to the rest-house ere sunrise. Wilt thou come?"
"To what end, Salig Singh?"
"Furthermore," the Rajput persisted stubbornly, his head lifted in pride and his nostrils dilated a little with scorn—"furthermore I offer thee the word of a Rajput. Thou are my guest, since thou wilt have it so. No harm shall come to thee, upon my honour."
Curiosity triumphed. Amber knew that he had exacted the most honoured pledge known in Rajputana. His apprehensions were at rest; nothing could touch him now—until he had returned to the bungalow. Then, he divined, it was to be open war—himself and Labertouche pitted against the strength of the greatest conspiracy known in India since the days of '57. But for the present, no pledge of any sort had been exacted of him.
"So be it," he assented on impulse. "I follow."
With no other word Salig Singh turned and strode down the corridor.