"Sort of thing Lennox and Keeling are always doing," said Charteris carelessly. "Not quite our style, eh? But if your conscience impels you to ruin your own career and justify the Brigadier's dislike of you, I suppose I can't prevent it."
"But think what he has sacrificed! Sher Singh will raise the country, bring down the Granthi army upon us, perhaps——"
"It's quite possible. But what I don't see is how your writing to the papers is going to prevent it."
"It might lead to—— Hang it, Bob! is the fellow to go unpunished?"
"Won't he be punished enough when the story of Sher Singh's escape gets about—not to speak of the additional trouble we may expect here? Hal, old boy, let him alone. If you don't, you'll be sorry when you're yourself again."
"For you to urge patience upon me is a novelty," said Gerrard, rather bitterly, but his step was less resolute as he tramped about the tent. Suddenly he sat down opposite Charteris. "Bob, I begin to think you are not so very far wrong. At any rate I'll wait before doing it. Who's that out there?" he cried sharply, as a shadow moved outside.
"Heaven-born!" Rukn-ud-din rose from his crouching position and saluted in the doorway. "It was told in the ears of this slave that your honour was very wrathful concerning the escape of the brother-slayer, and he presumed to approach unbidden with news."
"And what is the news?" demanded Gerrard, still ruffled.
"That the man who escaped was not Rajah Sher Singh at all, sahib."
"What! you mean that he is among the prisoners?"