“The worst that might happen?” Eveleen’s eyes danced as she noticed that he altered the wording of her question. “All the spies tell us Kamal-ud-din’s design is to attack the Fort in such strength that the General must leave his camp undefended in order to succour the garrison, and thus lose the hospitals and baggage, even if he beats off the assault.”
“Well, then, you won’t make me believe Sir Harry is going to walk into that trap! Tell me something worse.”
“If Kamal-ud-din is anything of a commander, and seriously desires to embarrass us, he has only to fall on Rickmer marching from Sahar. The General must endeavour to relieve him, and the farther off the action takes place the more unprotected he must leave things here—absolutely open to an attack from a second Arabit force. Why the Khan hasn’t attacked Rickmer already is a thing that puzzles me. One might almost believe he had little stomach for the fight. How is it he don’t see he’s playing the General’s game?”
“So there’s more method in Sir Harry’s madness than you’d allow just now? Sure you’ve forgot which side y’are arguing on! But I hear the horses coming round. Have you time to ride with me this evening?”
“If I may have the honour.”
“Ah, then, don’t be making fun of your old wife!” and Eveleen pulled his hair as she passed him. He looked after her with resigned amusement. She was like an indiarubber ball; nothing would crush her. Well, at any rate no one could say she was not happy. He had done his duty by her, in spite of those two or three embarrassing outbursts when her loudly asserted misery had made him doubt the wisdom of his action. For all her years, she was a child still, with a child’s sudden and unreasoning joy and sorrow, and a child she would remain. Now that he realised this, he knew what his own part must be—always a satisfaction to a man of his orderly, steady-going type of mind. Yes, that must be why he had found the path of duty easier to tread of late than when he had first brought his wife to Khemistan—he was getting used to it.
As they rode down to the flats by the river, they were joined by Brian—now released from his hated attendance on the Khans, who had been put in charge of a senior officer for their voyage to Bab-us-Sahel and thence to Bombay. He was bubbling over with delight.
“This is grand!” he cried. “Come with me and we’ll follow in the General’s footsteps. If we haunt the old boy faithfully, I’ll show you something worth seeing.”
“Anything new?” asked Richard.
“Rayther! Vakils with a letter from Kamal-ud-din—what d’ye think of that? They were fools enough to let it be known they were come to offer us terms of surrender, and when they arrived the General was ‘not at home.’ He had started on his evening ride, but if you’ll believe me—’twas a curious thing—he left word he’d be passing the Headquarters Mess about sunset. So they are to meet him there, and if we happen to find ourselves in the neighbourhood about the same time—well, the old lad has a tasty way of staging his scenes sometimes.”