“Why in thunder should she want it believed?”

“God knows, who made gipsies!”

At that moment the advance-guard rode into an open meadow, crossed by a shallow, singing stream at which Kagig ordered a halt to water horses.  So we closed up with him, and he repeated to us what he had evidently said before to Monty.

“Maga says—­I let her go scouting—­she says she met a man who told her that Miss Gloria Vanderman and a party of seven were attacked on the road, but escaped, and now have doubled on their tracks so that they are far on their return to Tarsus.”

Rustum Khan met Monty’s eyes, and his lips moved silently.

“What do you know, sirdar?” Monty asked him.

“The woman lies!”

Maga was glaring at Rustum Khan as a leopardess eyes an enemy.  As he spoke she made a significant gesture with a finger across her throat, which the Rajput, if he saw, ignored.

“To what extent?” demanded Kagig calmly.

“Wholly!  I followed her.  She met no man, although she pawed the ground at a place where eight ridden horses had crossed soft ground a day ago.”

Kagig nodded, recognizing truth—­a rather rare gift.

If the Rajput’s guess was wrong and Maga did know shame, at any rate she did not choose that moment to betray it.

“Oh, very well!” she sneered.  “There were eight horses.  They were galloping.  The track was nine hours old.”

Kagig nodded without any symptom of annoyance or reproach.

“There is an ancient castle in the hills up yonder,” he said, “in which there may be many Armenians hiding.”

He took it for granted we would go and find out, and Maga recognized the drift.

“Very well,” she said.  “Let that one go, and that one,” pointing at Fred and me.

“You’ll appreciate, of course,” said Monty, “that it’s out of the question for us to go forward until we know where that lady is.”

Kagig bowed gravely.

“I am needed at Zeitoon,” he answered.

Then Maga broke in shrilly, pointing at Will: 

“Take that one for hostage!” she advised.  “Bring him along to Zeitoon.  Then the rest will follow!”

Kagig looked gravely at her.

“I shall take this one,” he answered, laying a respectful hand on Monty’s sleeve.  “Effendi, you are an Eenglis lord.  Be your life and comfort on my head, but I need a hostage for my nation’s sake.  You others—­I admit the urgency—­shall hunt the missionary lady.  If I have this one”—­again he touched Monty—­“I know well you will come seeking him!  You, effendi, you understand my—­necessity?”

Monty nodded, smiling gravely.  There was a fire at the back of Monty’s eyes and something in his bearing I had never seen before.

“Then I go with my colonel sahib!” announced Rustum Khan.  “That gipsy woman will kill him otherwise!”

“Better help hunt for the lady, Rustum Khan.”