And a shivery night they had of it too after the ground had given up the heat of the day, such as there was. Nor could they risk a fire to cook with. There was a bit of a moon, such as the unseasonal cloud would allow, but at least it was dry. Likely the whole month would be, which was one of the reasons he knew Hervey wanted to make progress with Chintal, and he sympathized with his chafing at the delays. This thug-hunting was goodish sport, he supposed, but it wasn’t soldiering …

‘Captain-sahib, now is time to go.’

Fairbrother sat up. He’d not slept. Not much, certainly. ‘Very well, Inspector-sahib. Your men in place at the rear?’

They’d agreed that the best course was to have half a dozen sepoys creep around the edge of the village to the back of the single-storey walled house in case there was a watch at the front. There’d be little chance of catching Brar if he bolted now, not with two hours to daylight.

‘No, Captain-sahib. I changed the mind. Men are good, but most unready still.’

Fairbrother swore to himself. It was too late to do so to his face; and besides, it didn’t do to undermine the inspector’s authority, however ‘unready’ his men were. But if only he’d told him earlier he could have sent Spence and Smale … ‘Then the quicker we move, the better.’

‘Accha.’

They could at least do that – move quickly – ‘unready’ though the sepoys supposedly were. They were up and stood-to-horse in minutes. Silently too. In no more than ten they were mounted and away, but in a walk to keep down the noise.

At least, too, the house would be unmistakable said their intelligence – new-painted white. Fairbrother began to feel confident again.

The cloud thinned obligingly as they came to the edge of the village – a trifling place, a dozen or so dwellings, twenty at most. There were no lights of any kind, and no watchman they could see.

There was just room to ride two abreast into the maidan, Fairbrother and the inspector leading. The whitened house stood the other side, clear as day, just as promised. Fairbrother took his pistol in hand. He hoped not to use it – he wanted to see this Arjan Brar die by the drop – but if it came to a fight he wanted it to be he who dispensed justice. Ghufoor Khan had left him in no doubt as to Brar’s depravity.

The inspector’s best naik and three sepoys rode to the rear of the house while the rest dismounted. Horse-holders took the loosed reins, and the remaining six and Fairbrother’s four made ready to storm the last refuge of the secrets of thuggee.

There were two high, shuttered windows and the solid, studded door of the better sort of village dwelling. It was still too dark, even with the cloud gone, to make out detail, and the inspector told the havildar to light the lanterns. It took a minute or two, but the result was immediately impressive, the white walls helpfully reflecting the light. Confident, now, that if Arjan Brar made a dash for it he’d be seen at once and caught, the inspector advanced on the door, flanked by two naiks with drawn swords and Fairbrother with his pistol.