“But there are too many men here. There were only three left,” objected Mabel, in a hasty whisper.
“Well, and you have to tell us which they were. You didn’t think we were going to parade the three prisoners and invite you to swear to them, did you? Now don’t waste the time of the court.”
Absolute despair seized upon Mabel as she stood in front of the line of men, and looked shrinkingly into their faces. How was it possible that so many natives, differing presumably in origin and circumstances, could be so much alike? Not one of them blenched under her timid scrutiny. Some looked stolid and some bored, and one or two even amused, but this gave her no help. At last, however, it struck her that there was something familiar in one or two of the faces. She moved a step or so in order to examine them more carefully, and then looked round at Dick and the rest.
“This man,” she said, pointing to one, “and that one, and this.”
“You are certain?” asked Mr Burgrave.
“Yes; I know their faces quite well.”
This time an undisguised smile ran momentarily along the line of swarthy countenances, only to disappear before Dick’s frown.
“Take them away,” he said to the troopers, and with a clanking of chains here and there, the prisoners and their guard departed.
“What is the matter?” asked Mabel in bewilderment, as she looked from one to the other of the three chagrined faces before her. “What have I done?”
“Oh, only identified as your assailants one of the chaprasis and a sowar in mufti and the gardener’s son, who were all peacefully going about their lawful business at the time of the outrage,” said Dick bitterly. “You have made us the laughing-stock of the frontier.”