A couple of hours dragged slowly by; and then a servant doing sentry on the
front verandah reported a cloud of dust on the road from the forest leading
to the village. Dermot went out on the front verandah which looked towards
the coolie lines and put up the glasses.
"Some men on horses. Yes, and a motor-car coming slowly behind them," he
said to Daleham and his sister, who had followed him out. "It's the Rajah
and his escort, I suppose. Things will begin to move now."
When the newcomers reached the village a storm of shouting arose. Volley
after volley of shots were fired, conch-shells blown, tom-toms beaten.
"Yes, there's no doubt of it. It must be that fat brute," said Daleham.
Half an hour went by. The sun was high in the heavens. The landscape was
bare of life. Not a man was visible. But presently from the village came a
little figure, a naked little coolie boy. He moved slowly towards the
bungalow, stopping every few minutes to look back to the huts, then
advancing again with evident reluctance.
Dermot watched him through the glass. The whole garrison was on the
verandah.
"He's a messenger. I see a letter in his hand," said the soldier. "Poor
little devil, he's in an awful funk. None of the cowards dared do it
themselves, so they beat this child and made him come."
At last the frightened infant reached the bungalow, and Sher Afzul met him
and took the letter from him.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369