‘Accha, sahib!’

It was done, and quickly. And the name of the place was the same.

Fairbrother smiled. ‘So, Ghufoor Khan, these men have told me where is Arjan Brar, and I shall spare their lives. Yours, though, is forfeit. Corporal Spence!’

Spence hauled him to his feet.

‘And further, Ghufoor Khan, you are a Mussulman, but you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Rather, I myself shall smear you in the blood of Bhargava, your Hindoo accomplice, and shall shed on you my own, an infidel too, so that you will be doubly defiled!’

The Khan was now much alarmed. He looked anxiously about him, then fell to his knees and beat his breast. ‘It is better that Arjan Brar, an infidel also, is taken than I dishonour Allah by dying defiled. I will tell you his hiding place, huzoor.’

The baboo explained, and Fairbrother nodded. ‘Tell him that if the name of the place is not that which is given by the other two, I will have all my men defile his body, in every way, and then shoot him with my own hands.’

Ghufoor Khan bowed meekly, trembling, and gave the baboo the name of the place.

It was that which the others had given.

XII

And All His Pretty Ones

Two days later

Fairbrother cursed. If only he’d come himself instead of wasting time reporting to Sleeman, but those were Sleeman’s express orders: as soon as a likely approver was taken, he was to be brought at once for interrogation. The information he’d volunteer in the early days of capture would be far greater than if he were left to mull over his condition. That, at least, was Sleeman’s experience. Yet what information could be more valuable than taking Arjan Brar, who might then himself turn approver? Usually Fairbrother had no great liking for the rules; he was, he liked to say, one of Nature’s irregulars, but respect for his old friend – Hervey – had this time bound him to Sleeman’s instructions.

He was doubly annoyed with himself because when they’d handed over Ghufoor Khan and told him the whereabouts of Arjan Brar, Sleeman decided to stay and interrogate the Khan and instead send one of his inspectors to arrest Brar. Fairbrother therefore found himself acting under orders of a native officer – and a policeman at that – which severely tested his pride, though not perhaps as much as that of his two corporals. Except that the inspector’s zeal was not to be faulted.

The following night found the party – the inspector, a dozen of Sleeman’s sepoys, and Fairbrother’s men – lying up in a grove of coral trees half a mile outside a village of no note astride a track on which even a bullock cart would have struggled to make progress. Fairbrother had argued for closing at once, but the inspector was certain they’d find the house empty – at least of Arjan Brar, who, having probably heard of the taking of Ghufoor Khan, would be lying up at a distance from the village during the day. It made sense, and Fairbrother conceded that they’d have only the one opportunity to close on the house, but in the pitch darkness how would they know when he returned? They wouldn’t, said the inspector, so they’d have to lie up most of the night as well, descending on the house only in the early hours.