“Perhaps they do,” hazarded Roy.

“M-yes—­perhaps.  But the one on the electric standard this evening didn’t exactly achieve a star turn!—­You saw him, eh?” He looked very straight at Roy.  “I noticed you—­hanging round on the edge of things.  You ought to have gone straight on.”

Roy winced.  “We’d heard wild rumours.  She was anxious about the D.C.”

Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe.  “When does—­Mrs Elton make a move?”

“The first possible instant I should say, from the look of her.”

“Good.  She’s on the right tack, for once!  The D.C. deserves a first-class Birthday Honour—­and may possibly wangle an O.B.E.!  I’m told that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of police, pretty well saved the station before we came on the scene.  It’s been a nearer shave than one cares to think about.  And it’s not over.”

They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation, that looked blacker every hour.  And, till long after midnight, an uproarious mob raged through the city and Anarkalli, only kept from breaking all bounds by the tact and good-humour of a handful of cavalry and police; men of their own race, unshaken by open or covert attempts to suborn their loyalty—­a minor detail worth putting on record.

* * * * *

Friday was a day of rumours.  While the city continued furiously to rage, reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides:  further terrible details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army and the police were being tampered with and expected to join the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad and Lyallpur, where seventy British women and children were herded, in one bungalow, till they could safely be removed.  Everywhere the same tale:  stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut.  Fresh stories constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger in the blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women, longing to get away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with natives, manned by natives, who might be perfectly harmless; but, on the other hand, might not....

It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these things, one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other India, in the good days when peaceful loyal masses had not been galvanised into disaffection; when an Englishwoman, of average nerve, thought nothing of travelling alone up and down the country, or spending a week alone in camp—­if needs must—­secure in the knowledge that—­even in a disturbed Frontier district—­no woman would ever be touched or treated with other than unfailing respect.

Yet a good many were preparing to flit:  and to the men their departure would spell relief; not least, to Roy—­the new-made lover.  Parting would be a wrench; but at this critical moment—­for England and India—­the tug two ways was distinctly a strain; and the less she saw of it all, the better for their future chance of happiness.  He felt by no means sure it had not been imperilled already.