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Updated: May 14, 2025
Not once was he interrupted by word or sign from Labertouche; and even when the tale was told the latter said nothing, but dropped his gaze abstractedly to the smouldering stump of his cigarette. "And you?" demanded the Virginian. "Have pity, Labertouche! Can't you see I'm being eaten alive by curiosity?" Labertouche eyed him blankly for an instant.
"Stand aside, you hounds!" Amber turned pale. "That's Farrell's voice!" he cried, guessing at the truth. Labertouche made no answer, but edged toward the khansamah's quarters. The din subsided as Farrell gained the veranda.
"Now see here," began Amber, designedly continuing his half of the conversation in English far too much misunderstanding had already been brought about by his too-ready familiarity with Urdu. He paused a little to collect his thoughts, then resumed: "Now see here, you're Salig Singh, Maharana of Khandawar?" This much he recalled from his conversation with Labertouche a couple of hours gone.
But beyond it the emblazoned firmament glowed irradiant, and at their feet the encircling waters ran, a broad ribbon of black silk purling between the cliff and the opposing shores, where a thicket of tamarisks rose, a black and ragged wall. Labertouche strode off into the water. "Straight ahead," he announced; "don't worry 'tisn't more than knee-deep at the worst.
"What name?" "Labertouche. Why? You don't know him." "No; but Rutton did. Rutton got that poison from him." Quain whistled, his eyes round. "Did, eh? So much the better; he'll probably know all about Rutton and'll take a keener interest." "But you forget " "Hang your promise. I'm not bound by it and this is business blacker business than you seem to realise, Davy.
"Yes," admitted Amber sheepishly. "But " "And then I remembered something," interrupted Labertouche. "I recalled Rutton. I knew him years ago, when he was a young man.... You know the yarn about him?" "A little mighty little.
Tell your men to fall back, please, and I'll introduce myself properly." Two words secured the secret-agent the privacy he desired; the officer offered him an ungloved hand as the troopers withdrew out of hearing. "Happy, indeed!" he said cheerfully. "I'm Rowan, Captain, Fourteenth Pioneers." "I'm Labertouche, I.S.S. This is Miss Farrell, daughter of Colonel Farrell, and this Mr.
But his ignorance of the neighbouring topography was too great a handicap to be overcome; and now that Labertouche had gone, he was without a friendly, guiding hand. He could but deliver himself into the hands of the enemy and do what he might thereafter. He lifted his voice and called: "Ohe, Dulla Dad!"
Amber found his way out of the garden without difficulty; at the doorway an eunuch waited. The Maharana himself, perhaps in deference to the dictates of discretion, did not reappear, and Amber had no desire to see him again. He was eager only to get away, to find a place and time to think, and to get into communication with Labertouche.
"I myself can fill in the gap," Labertouche volunteered. "She joined some of Salig's underlings in Paris and went thence direct to Khandawar, assuming the name of one of the old queens who had elected opportunely to die.... Queer case singular instance of reversion to type."
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