Now news in India travels like the wind, first one way and then another.  But, unlike the wind, it never whistles.  Things happen and men know it and the information spreads—­invisible, intangible, inaudible, but positive and, in nine cases out of ten, correct in detail.  A government can no more censor it, or divert it, or stop it on the way, than it can stay the birthrate or tamper with the Great Monsoon.

First the priests knew it, then it filtered through the main bazaars and from them on through the smaller streets.  By the time that General Turner had been two hours on the road with his command every man and woman and child in Hanadra knew that the rebels had been beaten back and that Hanadra was his objective.  They knew, too, that the section had reached Doonha, had relieved it and started back again.  And yet not a single rebel who had fought in either engagement was within twenty miles of Hanadra yet!

In the old, low-ceilinged room above the archway Mahommed Khan paced up and down and chewed at his black mustache, kicking his scabbard away from him each time he turned and glowering at the priest.

“That dog can solve this riddle!” he kept muttering.  Then he would glare at Ruth impatiently and execrate the squeamishness of women.  Ruth sat on the divan with her face between her hands, trying to force herself to realize the full extent of her predicament and beat back the feeling of hysteria that almost had her in its grip.  The priest lay quiet.  He was in a torture of discomfort on the upturned table, but he preferred not to give the Risaldar the satisfaction of knowing it.  He eased his position quietly from time to time as much as his bandages would let him, but he made no complaint.

Suddenly, Ruth looked up.  It had occurred to her that she was wasting time and that if she were to fight off the depression that had seized her she would be better occupied.

“Mahommed Khan,” she said, “if I am to leave here on horseback, with you or with an escort, I had better collect some things that I would like to take with me.  Let me in that room, please!”

“The horse will have all that it can carry, heavenborn, without a load of woman’s trappings.”

“My jewels?  I can take them, I suppose?”

He bowed.  “They are in there?  I will bring them, heavenborn!”

“Nonsense!  You don’t know where to find them.”

“The ayah—­will—­will show me!”

He fitted the key into the lock and turned it, but Ruth was at his side before he could pass in through the door.

“Nonsense, Risaldar!  The ayah can’t hurt me.  You have taken her knife away, and that is my room.  I will go in there alone!”

She pushed past him before he could prevent her, thrust the door back and peered in.

“Stay, heavenborn—­I will explain!”

“Explain what?”

The dim light from the lamp was filtering in past them, and her eyes were slowly growing accustomed to the gloom.  There was something lying on the floor, in the middle of the room, that was bulky and shapeless and unfamiliar.