Banji Lal spoke animatedly, reinforcing his words with gestures that left no doubt as to the fate of Ghufoor Khan and his party if they didn’t cooperate, though he said it more with anxiety than menace, for he couldn’t quite believe this considerable man of thuggee could have exposed himself so, and feared that at any moment the rest of his men would appear and put them all to the sword.

The same thought hadn’t escaped Fairbrother. But he might use it to his advantage yet. The Khan still vehemently denied that he was who he was, and all knowledge of Arjan Brar. For what had he to fear if he could play for time?

‘Corporal Spence!’

‘Sir!’

Fairbrother whispered his orders. Spence nodded grimly.

‘Very well, Ghufoor Khan, which of these three men of yours is the most honoured, and which the most lowly?’

Ghufoor Khan looked puzzled, but if the game won him time, he’d play it willingly enough.

‘Akash Roy, of the blue turban, is my oldest friend; Bhargava, of the beard, is my servant.’

‘Very well. Bhargava shall die at once unless you tell me where is Arjan Brar. And then the next in importance, and then Akash Roy, and then you yourself, Ghufoor Khan. For if you will not tell, you are of no use to me – a burden, indeed, as your men try to catch us and we flee for the safety of the police post at Sthambadree.’

The Khan was alarmed. He hadn’t expected such a threat.

But could it be real? Would these agents of the British Company – or whatever they were – hang them like dogs at the side of the road?

‘I know not this Arjan Brar!’

‘Very well. Proceed, Corporal Spence!’

Spence beckoned to Askew to unbind the feet of the least of the accomplices and drag him to the bamboo thicket beside the grove.

Once out of sight he gave him the nod. ‘Good and clean, Davey lad.’

Askew swung his fist so fast the man was flat on his back before he could even flinch.

‘Stone cold. Nicely done, Davey. Get ready.’

Spence fired into the ground, then stepped out of the thicket for all to see, the pistol smoking obligingly, while Askew dragged the unconscious Bhargava into view for a second or so, as if moving him to make way for the next.

‘So, Ghufoor Khan, you think I am not a man of my word? Where is Arjan Brar?’

‘Tell him, Ghufoor Khan, tell him!’ shouted the next to die.

‘Yes, tell him, Ghufoor Khan,’ echoed Akash Roy, the next-but-one. ‘Why should we die for that rich fellow who takes more than his fair share?’

Ghufoor Khan shook his head.

Fairbrother feared he was thwarted.

But then the next-to-die gained heart. ‘I will tell you, huzoor, if you spare me!’

‘I too, huzoor,’ said Akash Roy.

Fairbrother brightened. ‘Take them aside, separately, baboo-sahib, and make note of what they say. If they differ …’