Her hands gripped at her breast; her face was deathly.
“Then,” she said, “I saw Prince Sanang draw his sabre of Indian steel, and he struck ... once only.... And a dead man fell down where the thing had stood. And all the marble was flooded with scarlet blood.”
“A trick,” repeated Cleves, in the ghost of his own voice. But his gaze grew vacant.
Presently Selden spoke in tones that sounded weakly querulous from emotional reaction:
“There is a path—a tunnel under the matted briers. It took me more than a week to cut it out. It is possible to reach Fool’s Acre. We can try—with our rifles—if you say so, Mrs. Cleves.”
The girl looked up. A little colour came into her cheeks. She shook her head.
“Their bodies may not be there in the garden,” she said absently. “What you saw may not have been that part of them—the material which dies by knife or bullet.... And it is necessary that these Yezidees should die.”
“Can you do anything?” asked Cleves, hoarsely.
She looked at her husband; tried to smile:
“I must try.... I think we had better not lose any time—if Mr. Selden will lead us.”