"Spoke it well?"

"No, sahib, not well, but sufficiently for us to understand him."

Another servant, on being questioned, mentioned the curious fact that the
man with the revolver conversed with another of the raiders in Bengali.
This struck Dermot as being improbable, but others of the servants
confirmed the fact. Having gathered all the information that they could
give him he went over to look at the dead man.

The _syce_, or groom, was lying on his back in a pool of blood. He had been
struck down by a blow from a sword which seemed to have split the skull.
But, on placing his ear to the poor wretch's chest, Dermot thought that he
could detect a faint fluttering of the heart. Holding his polished silver
cigarette case to the man's mouth he found its brightness slightly clouded.

"Why, he is still living," exclaimed the soldier. "Quick! Bring water."

He hastily applied his flask to the man's lips. Although he grudged the
time, Dermot felt that the wounded man's attempt to defend Noreen entitled
him to have his wound attended to even before any effort was made to rescue
her. So he had the _syce_ carried to his hut, and then, taking out his
surgical case, he cleansed and sewed up the gash. But his thoughts were
busy with Noreen's peril. The occurrence astonished him. Bhuttias from the
hills beyond the border occasionally raided villages and tea-gardens in
British territory in search of loot, but were generally careful to avoid
Europeans. Such an outrage as the carrying off of an Englishwoman had never
been heard of on the North-East Frontier.

There was no time to be lost if the raiders were to be overtaken before