“Nice little girl that—fine eyes,” said Mr Crayne to his nephew later. “The one who stood up for Keeling, I mean. Anything between them?”
“Certainly not, sir,” replied Ferrers with decision. “Quite the contrary.”
“Oho, that’s the way the wind blows, eh? Well, sir, understand me. There’s to be no talk of anything of the sort until you’re back from Gamara, d’ye hear? The Government won’t send a married man, and for once they’re right. If you do anything foolish, I’ll ruin you. No, it won’t be necessary—you’ll ruin yourself. Be off.”
Ferrers returned to his room at Colin’s quarters in a somewhat subdued frame of mind. He had fully intended to get Penelope to marry him before he started for Gamara, not so much, it must be confessed, with the idea of providing for her as of precluding any possibility of a change of feeling on her part. This was now out of the question; but it occurred to him as a consolation that the nature of his errand would appeal to her so strongly that he might feel quite secure. The future looked very promising as he mounted Colin’s steps; but even as he did so, his past rose up to greet him. A beggar was crouching in the shadow of one of the pillars of the verandah, and held up his hand in warning as Ferrers was about to shout angrily for the watchman to come and turn him off.
“It is I, sahib. The business is urgent. To-morrow you will see your desires fulfilled, but there is still one thing to be done. Give me an order to Jones Sahib at Shah Nawaz for two sowars, whom I shall choose, to accompany me on the track of a notorious marauder.”
“But what has this to do with our affair? Who’s the fellow?”
“Nay, sahib; have you not yet learnt that there are questions it were better not to ask? Fear not; the man shall be duly tracked and followed, but he shall not be brought in alive, nor shall his body be found. On this all depends.”
“Look here,” said Ferrers; “do you mean to tell me you are proposing to murder Major Keeling in cold blood, and hide his body in the sand? Give me a straight answer.”
“Nay, sahib,” said the Mirza unwillingly, “not Kīlin Sahib—it is the other. He must not be found to-morrow.”
“The other? What other?”