“Yes.  I was forgetting.  If you will be so kind, I wish you would see the expedition out, and take charge of the expenses.  There are some bags of rupees somewhere among my traps.  Narain knows.  I shall not take him with me—­or, no; on second thoughts I will hand you over the money, and take him to Simla.  Then, about the other thing.  Do not tell any one where I have gone, unless it be Miss Westonhaugh, and use your own discretion about her.  We shall all be in Simla in ten days, and I do not want this thing known, as you may imagine.  I do not think there is anything else, thanks.”  He paused, as if thinking.  “Yes, there is one more consideration.  If anything out of the way should occur in this transaction with Baithopoor, I should want your assistance, if you will give it.  Would you mind?”

“Of course not.  Anything——­”

“In that case, if Ram Lal thinks you are wanted, he will send a swift messenger to you with a letter signed by me, in the Persian shikast—­which you read.—­Will you come by the way he will direct you, if I send?  He will answer for your safety.”

“I will come,” I said, though I thought it was rather rash of me, who am a cautious man, to trust my life in the hands of a shadowy person like Ram Lal, who seemed to come and go in strange ways, and was in communication with suspicious old Brahmin jugglers.  But I trusted Isaacs better than his adept friend.

“I suppose,” I said, vaguely hoping there might yet be a possibility of detaining him, “that there is no way of doing this business so that you could remain here.”

“No, friend Griggs.  If there were any other way, I would not go now.  I would not go to-day, of all days in the year—­of all days in my life.  There is no other way, by the grave of my father, on whom be the peace of Allah.”  So we went to bed.

At four o’clock Narain waked us, and in twenty minutes Isaacs was on horseback.  I had ordered a tat to be in readiness for me, thinking I would ride with him an hour or two in the cool of the morning.  So we passed along by the quiet tents, Narain disappearing in the manner peculiar to Hindoo servants, to be found at the end of the day’s march, smiling as ever.  The young moon had set some time before, but the stars were bright, though it was dark under the trees.

Twenty yards beyond the last tent, a dark figure swept suddenly out from the blackness and laid a hand on Isaacs’ rein.  He halted and bent over, and I heard some whispering.  It only lasted a moment, and the figure shot away again.  I was sure I heard something like a kiss, in the gloom, and there was a most undeniable smell of roses in the air.  I held my peace, though I was astonished.  I could not have believed her capable of it.  Lying in wait in the dusk of the morning to give her lover a kiss and a rose and a parting word.  She must have taken me for his servant in the dark.

“Griggs,” said Isaacs as we parted some six or seven miles farther on,—­“an odd thing happened this morning.  I have left something more in your keeping than money.”