The astonishment that prompted this question was a very natural one, for the lean, dark-skinned little man who had just appeared at the entrance of the tent was no other than his faithful servant Morar Gopal whom he had believed to be dead.  Round his forehead he wore a fresh bandage.  For a moment he stood stock-still at the entrance to the tent, and his dark eyes beamed with pleasure at having found his master again unharmed.

Hardly able to restrain his emotion, Morar Gopal advanced towards Heideck, prostrated himself on the ground, Hindu fashion, in order to touch the earth with his forehead, and then sprang to his feet with all the appearance of the greatest joy.

But Heideck was scarcely less moved than the other, and pressed the brown hand of his faithful servant warmly.

“These lunatics did not kill you after all then?  But I saw you felled to the ground by their blows.”

Morar Gopal grinned cunningly.

“I threw myself down as soon as I saw that further resistance was useless.  And, because I was bleeding from a wound in the head, they thought, I suppose, that they had finished me.  Directly afterwards the Cossacks came, and in front of their horses, which would otherwise have trampled upon me, I quickly scrambled to my feet.”

“You have great presence of mind!  But where did you get this fine suit of clothes?”

“I ran back to the hotel—­through the back door, where the smoke was not so stifling—­because I thought that sahib would perhaps have taken refuge there.  I did not find sahib, but I found these clothes, and thought it better to put them on than to leave them to burn.”

“Quite right, my brave fellow! you will hardly be brought up for this little theft.”

“I looked for sahib everywhere, where English prisoners are; and when I came to Anar Kali just at the moment that Mrs. Irwin was being driven away in a carriage, I knew that I was at length on the track of my master.”

Heideck violently clutched his arm.

“You saw it? and you know, too, who it was that took her away?”

“Yes, sir, it was Siwalik, the Master of the Horse to Prince Tasatat; and the lady is now with him on the road to Simla.”

“Simla!  How do you know that?”

“I was near enough to hear every word that the Indians spoke, and they said that they were going to Simla.”

“And Mrs. Irwin?  She didn’t resist?  She didn’t cry for help?  She allowed herself to be carried off quietly?”

“The lady was very proud.  She did not say a word.”

An orderly officer stepped into the tent and brought the Prince an order to appear at once before the Commander-in-Chief.

“Do you know what about?” asked the Colonel.

“As far as I know, it concerns a report of Captain Obrutschev, who commanded the file of men told off for the execution.  He reported that the Colonel had carried away a spy who was to be shot by order of the court-martial.”