were still sitting. Each of them had a pistol, and their intention
didn't admit of doubt.

"Are you there, sahib?" Narayan Singh whispered.

But Jeremy and I were aware of them almost as soon as he, and rather
than make a noise by vaulting the veranda rail, we took the longer route
by way of the front steps. Jeremy, who was wearing sandals, kicked them
off and not having to creep so carefully, moved faster.

Of course, the obvious question is, why didn't Narayan Singh shoot? I
had a pistol too; why didn't I use it? Well, I'll tell you. None but
the irresponsible criminal shoots a man except in obedience to orders or
in self-defence.

You may argue that those three night-prowlers might have shot Ticknor
and his wife and Grim through the window while we aired our superior
virtue. The answer to that is, that they didn't, although that was
their intention. Narayan Singh, already once that night in danger of
his life, and a "godless, heathen Sikh," as I have heard a missionary
call him, pocketed the pistol I had given him before proceeding to
engage, he being also a white man by the proper way of estimating such
things.

Jeremy was first on the scene of action, with Narayan Singh close behind
him, and I was quite a bit behind, for I tripped against the top step in
my hurry. The noise I made gave the alarm, and the three Arabs twisted
round like cornered scorpions. I guess they couldn't see us well at
first, having been staring through the torn shade into the lighted room.