“The Sahib and Beebee!” repeated Brian in astonishment. “What Sahib and Beebee? It can’t possibly be——”
“Not your sister and her husband—how could it be?” demanded Captain Keeling crushingly. “They are miles away on t’other side of the river.”
“I don’t know. I did hear at H.Q. that Puggy had come in swearing he would stake his reputation they had never been on that bank at all, but he had gone out on another errand, and I had no time to hunt him up. If it could be——!”
“Who is this Sahib?” snapped Captain Keeling to the man.
“This slave cannot tell his name, Sahib, but he is sick, and his Beebee enjoys the gift of good fortune.”
“I wouldn’t exactly have thought that!” muttered Brian. “But I must see—I’ll ride on. Good heavens, if it might be! How in the world would they get here?”
“You had better wait, unless you want to be chased and put under arrest. Here comes the great Bleackley to take over the negotiations. Now for a triumphal entry!”
Quivering with impatience, Brian had to wait while Colonel Bleackley—through an interpreter—questioned the deputation, and learned that Kamal-ud-din, with his family and such of his forces as remained faithful to him, had left the town the night before. Of the Arabits who declined to follow his fortunes farther, most had gone their several ways, after plundering where they could, and besides the townspeople there were left only a few who were tired of fighting, and the wounded from yesterday’s action. Renewed assurances of the town’s delight in welcoming the British convinced Colonel Bleackley that no treachery was to be feared, and he announced his intention of taking possession of the fort. Led by the Khemistan Horse, the expedition entered the town and marched through the streets, to be greeted by a weird apparition as it approached the fort gate. An elderly native—a down-country Mohammedan from his dress—was dancing wildly on the battlements and waving his pagri like a streamer. Catching sight of Brian, he turned the stream of blessings he was pouring on the column generally into a more personal channel, and Brian recognised his brother-in-law’s bearer.
“If you’ll believe me, it is them after all!” he cried joyfully. “Come down, y’old sinner, and show us where your Sahib is.”
Descending with miraculous speed by some unseen staircase, Abdul Qaiyam appeared in the gateway, his turban neatly rolled as though by magic, his aspect composed and stately. “The Sahib and the Beebee await the young Sahib,” he announced in his most important voice.