“But I’ll do something for your brother myself,” he added mysteriously. “He shall go down to Bombay in September with my nephew Fred, and help him bring back my wife and girls. That’s a task to his mind—eh? Don’t you tell him, ma’am—let it come as a surprise. Where’s the fellow gone?”
“Here he is,” said Eveleen, rather nervously, for Brian had rejoined them in company with a sallow man in native dress, who seemed to shun the curious glances thrown at him. “And this is the person who saved our lives, Sir Harry.”
The General looked searchingly at the renegade, then spoke briskly. “An American, I understand, Mr Thomas?”
It was the chance of escape, and Eveleen breathed again. But for once Carthew held up his head and squared his shoulders. “No, General; I can’t deny my country even to save my life. I am an Englishman.”
“Nothing to boast of in your case, I fear. I am sorry to see you here. At Qadirabad I shall be compelled to place you under strict arrest, pending an enquiry into your case—at Qadirabad, do you understand?”
If Carthew did not understand, Brian and Eveleen did, and the next morning the two, going out for an early ride, halted near a tent on the outskirts of the camp, mysteriously left unguarded. Brian led a spare horse with well-filled saddle-bags, and when they rode on again this horse had a rider. Out of sight of the camp, on the southward route leading eventually to Kamal-ud-din’s refuge in the Delta, the three halted.
“Tom, you wouldn’t come back even now and face it?” asked Eveleen anxiously. “The General would see you had a fair trial, and we would all bear witness——”
“I can’t, Miss Evie.” Carthew’s habitual stoop and shifty manner had returned. “I can’t face it. I’m shamed enough. The private soldiers point their thumbs at me. They all know who I am—the chap that fired on his own people. No, thankin’ you kindly, I’ll go where everybody else is as bad as me.”
“God bless you, Tom—even there—wherever you go!” and Eveleen and Brian shook hands with him, and watched him ride away in the cool light of the dawn.
* * * * * * * *