Stan stood up and let her help him into the white robe. He bent down and she fixed his turban into place.
“You will do very well,” she said. “But it is best that you walk stooped a little. You stand too straight, too much the soldier.”
“Will you get into trouble over this?” Stan asked anxiously.
“If I am caught, yes,” she admitted. “But no one would charge me with making the dacoit strangler fail. No one can make a dacoit fail. Unless we are seen and recognized, the dacoit and the priests will say the body of the white man was stolen by thieves. They would not admit failure.” She smiled up at him.
“But what will they do with you if you are caught?” Stan insisted upon knowing.
“I will die,” she replied simply. Her smile did not fade as she said it.
“I’d take you with me, but I have to go through the jungle,” Stan said. “I may be a long time getting back to my base.”
“You wish to go through the jungle?” she asked.
“That is the only way I can get out of here, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Te Nuwa has a flying machine. You are a flying man,” she laughed softly. “Te Nuwa prizes his big bird greatly.”