Malcolm took in some of these details in one amazed glance, but his thoughts were recalled sternly to the affairs of the moment by hearing the ring of spurred heels on the sharp-sounding pavement from behind a curtained arch. There was no time to retreat nor cross towards an alcove that promised some slight screen from the soft and penetrating light that filled the room. He saw that his guide was perturbed, but he asked no question. With the quick military tread came the frou-frou of silk and the footfall of slippered feet. Then the curtain was drawn aside and Akhab Khan entered, followed by the Princess Roshinara.
Malcolm had the advantage of a few seconds’ warning. Even as Akhab Khan placed his hand on the curtain the Englishman sprang forward, and the astounded sowar, now a brigadier in the rebel forces, found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
“Do not move till I bid you, Akhab Khan,” said Malcolm, in his self-contained way. “I am summoned hither, so I come, but it may be necessary to secure a hostage for my safe conduct outside the walls again.”
“You! Malcolm-sahib!” was Akhab Khan’s involuntary outburst.
“Yes, even I. Have you not heard, then, that I rode into the palace to-day?”
“There was a report that some Feringhis—some sahibs—were in the city as spies—”
“Malcolm-sahib is here because I sent for him,” broke in Roshinara.
“You—sent for him!”
Akhab Khan’s swarthy features paled, and his eyes sparkled wrathfully. Heedless of Malcolm’s implied threat, or perhaps ignoring it, he wheeled round on the Princess, and his right hand crossed to his sword-hilt.