The Rajput bowed.  She reined back.  He saluted, and she bowed again; then, with a glance to make sure that Joanna followed, she started back at little more than a walking pace—­a dejected wraith of a girl on a dejected-looking pony, too overcome by the upsetting of her rebellious scheme to care or even think whether Joanna dropped out of sight or not.  Ali Partab watched her down the street with a face that betrayed no emotion and no suspicion of what his thoughts might be.  When she was out of sight he went back under the arch to attend to his three horses; and the moment that he did so a fat but very furtive Hindoo took his place—­glanced down the street once in the direction that Rosemary had taken—­and then darted up-street as fast as his shaking paunch would let him.  He had been gone at the least ten minutes, when Joanna, also furtive, also in a hurry, dodged here and there among the commencing surge of traffic and approached the arch again.

It would be useless to try to read her mind, or to translate the glitter of her beady eyes into thoughts intelligible to any but an Oriental.  It was quite clear, though, that she wished not to be noticed, that she feared the occupants of the caravansary, and that she had returned for word with Ali Partab.  He, least of all, would have doubted her intention of demanding the two gold mohurs, for it was she who had brought the word that Miss McClean wanted him.  But what relation that intention had to her loyalty or treachery, or whether she were capable of either—­capable of anything except greed, and obedience for the sake of pay—­were problems no man living could have guessed.

She asked the lounging sweeper by the arch whether Ali Partab had ridden out as yet.  He jeered back outrageous improprieties, suggestive of impossible ambition on the hag’s part.  She called him “sahib,” dubbed him “father of a dozen stalwart sons,” returned a few of his immodest compliments with a flattering laugh, and learned that Ali Partab was still busy in the caravansary.  Then she proceeded to make herself very inconspicuous beside a two-wheeled wagon, up-ended in the gutter opposite the arch, and waited with eastern patience for the horseman to ride out.

She saw the fat Hindoo come back, in no particular hurry now, and seat himself not far from her.  Later she saw eight horsemen ride down the street, pass the arch, wheel, and halt.  She noticed that they were not Maharajah Howrah’s men but a portion of his brother Jaimihr’s body-guard, then took no further notice of them.  If they chose to wait there, it was no affair of hers, and to appear inquisitive would be to invite a lance-butt, very shrewdly thrust where it would hurt.

It was an hour at least before Ali Partab rode out through the arch, looking down anxiously at his horse’s off-hind that had been showing symptoms of “brushing” lately.  Joanna rose instantly to cross the street and intercept him; and she recoiled in the nick of time to save herself from being ridden down.