From the room above, where the lamp shone behind gauze curtains came the sound of voices; and in the deepest, death-darkest shadow of the door below there stood a man on guard whose fingers clutched his sword-hilt and whose breath came heavily.  He stood motionless, save for his heaving breast; between his fierce, black mustache and his up-brushed, two-pointed beard, his white teeth showed through parted lips.  But he gave no other sign that he was not some Rajput princeling’s image carved out of the night.

He was an old man, though, for all his straight back and military carriage.  The night concealed his shabbiness; but it failed to hide the medals on his breast, one bronze, one silver, that told of campaigns already a generation gone.  And his patience was another sign of age; a younger man of his blood and training would have been pacing to and fro instead of standing still.

He stood still even when footsteps resounded on the winding stair above and a saber-ferrule clanked from step to step.  The gunners heard and stood squarely to their horses.  There was a rustling and a sound of shifting feet, and, a “Whoa,—­you!” to an irritated horse; but the Rajput stayed motionless until the footsteps reached the door.  Then he took one step forward, faced about and saluted.

“Salaam, Bellairs sahib!” boomed his deep-throated voice, and Lieutenant Bellairs stepped back with a start into the doorway again—­one hand on his sword-hilt.  The Indian moved sidewise to where the lamplight from the room above could fall upon his face.

“Salaam, Bellairs sahib!” he boomed again.

Then the lieutenant recognized him.

“You, Mahommed Khan!” he exclaimed.  “You old war-dog, what brought you here?  Heavens, how you startled me!  What good wind brought you?”

“Nay!  It seems it was an ill wind, sahib!”

“What ill wind?  I’m glad to see you!”

“The breath of rumor, sahib!”

“What rumor brought you?”

“Where a man’s honor lies, there is he, in the hour of danger!  Is all well with the Raj, sahib?”

“With the Raj?  How d’you mean, Risaldar?”

Mahommed Khan pointed to the waiting guns and smiled.

“In my days, sahib,” he answered, “men seldom exercised the guns at night!”

“I received orders more than three hours ago to bring my section in to Jundhra immediately—­immediately—­and not a word of explanation!”

“Orders, sahib?  And you wait?”

“They seem to have forgotten that I’m married, and by the same token, so do you!  What else could I do but wait?  My wife can’t ride with the section; she isn’t strong enough, for one thing; and besides, there’s no knowing what this order means; there might be trouble to face of some kind.  I’ve sent into Hanadra to try to drum up an escort for her and I’m waiting here until it comes.”

The Risaldar stroked at his beard reflectively.