But, if the man were flurried, the woman was not. She threw back her veil, being ever disdainful of the ordinance that women of rank and beauty should hide their faces from the common ken.
“Thank you, good fellow,” she said to the bhisti. “Get you back to the fort speedily, and remember that those who serve me without words shall be paid ten times more than those who talk. Ah!” she continued, turning to the wondering Rajputs who, of course, recognized her as soon as the light illumined her animated features, “Jai Singh told me you were faithful to your salt. It could not be otherwise with men from Rajputána, yet such fidelity is worthy of reward. It shall not be long delayed.”
The coarse linen sari of the water-carrier’s wife had fallen from her head and shoulders, and even the flickering glimmer of the oil lamp revealed the fact that Nur Mahal was attired with uncommon splendor. She not only looked but spoke like a queen, and her way of addressing the poor retainers at the gate was as gracious and dignified as if they were court nobles.
“Have you brought no other retinue?” asked Walter, at a loss for more pertinent question before so many inquisitive ears.
She laughed again, and the silvery note of her mirth was pleasant if disconcerting.
“All in good time,” she said. “Let us go to the house, but first inquire, if you do not know, who have preceded me. Then I shall tell you who will come after.”
Amidst the chaos of his ideas Mowbray was conscious that Nur Mahal was rendering him one invaluable service. She brought with her certainty where all was void. Her words, her air, betokened a fixed purpose. For all he knew he might be a pawn or a king in the game she was playing, but, until he was further enlightened, it was advisable to move as she directed. Then, being a free agent, he might become erratic.
The doorkeeper, brought to the domain of dry figures, whittled down his earlier statement as to the number of strange visitors he had admitted. There were two Mahomedans, using the significant countersign “Death Watch,” while no less than eight Hindus, excluding Nur Mahal (herself a Mahomedan), were of the “Victory” party. He knew none. His orders were from the Grand Vizier.
“Whither have they gone? Are they secreted in the house?” demanded Mowbray.
“Enough said,” was Nur Mahal’s laconic interruption. “Come with me. I will explain.”