“Ah, thank God, you’ve come!” cried Barbara, running to the foot of the ladder.
Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
“Run her upstairs,” he said quickly to Bellward who had followed behind him, “and lock her in her room. I’ve seen to the rest. You, Miss Mackwayte,” he added to Barbara, “you will come with us!”
Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror to utter a sound.
“Oh, don’t be so rough with her, Major Okewood!” entreated Barbara, “you’ll hurt her!”
She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
“Okewood,” he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the words, “Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!” Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
“Come,” he said, “we must be getting upstairs. We have much to do!”
He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him, one knee slightly drawn up.