“Mercy, sahib! I saved you when you were in my power. Show pity now to me.”
“It is true, then, that you meant to desert, Akhab Khan?” said Frank sternly.
“Yes, sahib. One cannot fight against one’s brothers, but I swear by the Prophet—”
“Nay, your oaths are not needed. You, at least, did not wish to commit murder. Cling to that oar. The ghât is close at hand.”
“Then, sahib, I can still show my gratitude. If you would save the miss-sahib, do not land here. The Magazine has been taken. The cavalry have looted the Treasury. All the sahib-log have fallen.”
“Is this a true thing that thou sayest?”
“May I sink back into the pit if it be not the tale we heard at Bithoor!”
By this time Mayne was at Frank’s side.
“I fear we have dropped into a hornets’ nest,” said he. “There is certainly an unusual turmoil in the bazaar, and houses are on fire in all directions.”
Even while they were listening to the fitful bellowing of a distant mob bent on mad revel a crackle of musketry rang out, but died away as quickly. The budgerow grounded lightly when her prow ran against the stonework of the ghât. Again did Malcolm make up his mind on the spur of the moment.