“My orders were that they should have sixty rounds apiece, but they were in such a hurry to be off they never took ’em.”
“Ah, with that sixty rounds we could have held out till you came. You, General—not the army. Your presence would have removed all difficulties.”
“Yes, and my head from my shoulders—as I said when I got your letter. What! you won’t believe a word against your dear gentle Khans, even now? D’ye know anything of an unfortunate white man—an American, so they tell me—called Thomas, who commanded their artillery?”
“Why, yes, General. We owe him much gratitude——”
“Well, you’ll never have the chance of repaying him in this world. Faced with the order to fire on persons of his own colour, he refused, and they cut off his nose and ears, and killed him.”
“And ’twas his warning saved all our lives!” cried Eveleen wildly. “Oh, poor Tom Carthew, poor poor Tom! And that was the man”—she faced round suddenly on her husband—“you wanted to forbid me to speak to!”
“I suppose there’s no doubt, sir——?” asked Richard.
“None whatever, I fear. The spy hesitated to tell me—because, so Munshi said, he didn’t like to bring such news about a sahib. I told him to say the only thing it would make me angry to hear would be that the Sahib had stooped to dishonour, and I gave the spy ten rupees when he had revealed the sad yet glorious truth. Not much doubt there. A word with you, Ambrose, if you please.”
For once Colonel Bayard had no defence to offer of the Khans’ action, and he dropped behind with Eveleen, pretending, with his usual kindness, not to notice the tears she was unable to conceal, while Richard took his place beside Sir Harry. The old soldier was perturbed.
“Is Bayard wilfully blind, or is he mad?” he demanded wrathfully as they drew ahead. “I have been mistaken in the man. Nothing but massacre will open his eyes.”