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He thanked his stars for Labertouche for the hand that clasped his arm and the voice that spoke guardedly in his ear. And then, by the light of the street, he discovered that his gratitude had been premature and misplaced.
I claim to be Naraini, Queen, wife to Har Dyal Rutton, rightful ruler of Khandawar coward, traitor, renegade who stands there!" "For the love of Heaven, Rowan, shut her up!" cried Labertouche. "It's all a pack of lies; the woman's raving. Rutton's dead, in the first place; in the second, he's her father. She can't be his wife very well, whether he's alive or dead.
My father and your man Doggott joined us at Karachi, where this steamer touched the second day." "You understand, now ?" "Everything, dearest." "Labertouche ?" "He told me nothing. I haven't seen him since that morning, when, just after you were wounded, we started for Nok. He posted off to Kuttarpur to find my father.... No; it was you who told me everything in your delirium."
Miss Farrell came by the same train, but Salig Singh was in too great a hurry to get home to pay any attention to her, and I, knowing you'd be along, arranged that tonga accident with Ram Nath. He bribed his brother tonga-wallah to bring it about." "Thank you," said Amber from his heart. Labertouche impatiently waved the interruption aside.
"And now ... for what purpose did Rutton ask you to come to India? Wasn't it to get Miss Farrell out of the country?" "I think you're the devil himself," said Amber. "I'm not," confessed Labertouche; "but I am a member of the Indian Secret Service not officially connected with the police, observe! and I know a deal that you don't.
Imperative." It was signed: "Pink Satin." He acted upon it without thought of disobedience; he was in the hands of Labertouche, and Labertouche knew best. Between the lines he read that the Englishman considered it unwise to attempt further communication in Calcutta. Something had happened to eliminate the trip to Darjeeling.
"Of course you are perfectly right, Miss Farrell," said he, with a little bow. "I'm sorry that circumstances ... But come! She'll have this hornet's nest about our ears in a brace of seconds. Hark to that!" A long, shrill shriek echoed down the gallery. Labertouche shrugged and turned to the left. "Come along," he said. "Amber, take Miss Farrel's hand and keep close to me."
Inserting this in a socket, as one familiar with the trick, he put his weight upon it; a carved sandstone slab slid back silently, disclosing a black cavernous opening. "In with you," panted Labertouche, removing the lever. "Don't delay...." Amber did not.
That Mohammedan prince whom I persuaded to change places with me was a walking arsenal." Labertouche chuckled. "Come along," he said, and drew ahead at a dog-trot. They sped down a passage which delved at a sharp grade through solid rock. Now and again it turned and struck away in another direction. Once they descended or rather fell down a short, steep flight of steps.
But while his finger was yet seeking the trigger the first shadow was joined by a score of fellows shades that materialised with like swiftness and silence from the surface of the earth and before he could level the weapon Labertouche seized his wrist.
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