“My story is nearly ended, sahib. At dawn you march to the next camping-ground, which will surely be on the south side of a big nullah fourteen miles ahead. While perched in the tree I noted the lie of the camp, and, doubtless, it is the same each night. At the eleventh hour I and threescore followers will cross the nullah. Be ready! Strike fearlessly when you hear an owl hoot three times. If the commotion starts in the center they will think the devil has broken loose when the real attack comes from the flank. There will be led horses in plenty once we ford the nullah, provided you tell me now how many will escape with you.”
“And then?”
“Then we ride to the east and back to the south.”
“Whither bound?”
“To Burdwán. Nowhere else can we obtain shelter until we make our next move.”
“The plan is Nur Mahal’s?”
“You forget, sahib, it is your own.”
“But she approves. What of her? Does she bide in Agra?”
“She bides there, sahib, if that be your wish.”
“Ah! Was that her word to you?”