They rode over the crest of the hill and Arthur saw the city of Hyderabad sprawling across the plain below him: a dark mass of buildings and minarets, illuminated here and there by the twinkling of small flames that cast a faint loom about them. The guide led Arthur down the far slope into a dried river bed that looped across the ground towards the city, and their horses’ hooves scraped on the gravel loudly enough to make Arthur wince and glance anxiously into the surrounding shadows to see if they had been detected. But there was only the occasional crack and rustle from the undergrowth betraying the movement of small creatures. Eventually the banks of the river bed levelled out a little as they approached the city outskirts.The air was filled with the braying of goats and deeper bellows of cattle in wicker pens stretching out on either side. The sharp tang of their odour was mixed with the rich earthy smell of manure and Arthur instinctively wrinkled his nose as they rode on, a safe distance from the dark buildings from which the sing-song voices of their inhabitants occasionally sounded.

Then ahead of them Arthur saw a cluster of larger buildings outside the city and the scout clicked his tongue and pointed at them to indicate they were nearing their destination. He led Arthur to the largest of the houses, a single-storey dwelling surrounded by a wide, colonnaded veranda. A torch burned over the main entrance and, from within, faint slivers of light outlined the shutters closed across the windows. They made for the small cluster of stables and store sheds behind the bungalow and the scout called out softly towards the shadows. At once two men emerged and padded across to the horses to take the reins as Arthur and the scout dismounted. A door opened on to the veranda and a figure emerged.

‘Colonel Wellesley?’

‘Yes.’

‘This way please, sir.’The figure beckoned to them and Arthur and the scout climbed the steps to the veranda.Arthur could now vaguely make out the features of the man in the doorway. He was a young man, perhaps the same age as Arthur, with closely cropped hair and a solid build. He turned to Arthur’s guide and muttered to him in Hindoostani to wait outside.

Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Captain Kirkpatrick?’

‘Yes, sir. Please come inside. The others are waiting for you.’

Once Arthur had entered the house, Kirkpatrick closed the door behind him and picked up a small lamp on a side table, then led him down the corridor to where it opened out on to a formal reception room. Two men were sitting at a small table, lit by another lamp. Above them a punkah hung lifelessly and the air inside the room was still and stifling. The men stood up at the sound of approaching footsteps.