"Damn the thing!" Barlow groaned.




CHAPTER XIV

An hour later Barlow, mounted on a stalky Cabuli polo-pony, rode to the
Residency, happy over the papers in his pocket, but troubling over how
he could explain their possession and keep the girl out of it. To even
mention the Gulab, unless he fabricated a story, would let escape the
night-ride, and, no doubt, in the perversity of things, Resident Hodson
would want to know where she was and where he had taken her, and insist
on having her produced for an official inquisition. The Resident, a
machine, would sacrifice a native woman without a tremor to the
official gods.

Barlow could formulate no plausible method; he could not hide the death
of the two native messengers, and would simply have to take the stand
of, "Here is this message from His Excellency and as to how I came by
it is of as little importance as an order from the War Office
regulating the colour of thread that attaches buttons to a tunic."

He turned the Cabuli up the wide drive that led to the Residency, the
big white walled bungalow in which Hodson lived, and shook his riding
crop toward Elizabeth who was reading upon the verandah. He swung from
the saddle, and held out his hand to the girl, saying cheerily, "Hello,
Beth! Didn't you ride this morning, or are you back early?"

The novel seemed to require support of the girl's hand, or she had not