She had just come out some
back door of the bungalow, for from the drive I could see the open
space that lay between the bungalow and the servants' quarters."
Hodson dropped a hand to the teak-wood desk; it looked inadequate,
thin, bloodless; blue veins mapped its white back. "You are mistaken,
Elizabeth, I'm sure. Some other girl--"
"No, father, I was not mistaken. There are not many native girls like
the Gulab, I'll admit. As she turned a clump of crotons she saw me
sitting my horse and drew a gauze scarf across her face to hide it. I
waited, and asked the _chowkidar_ if it were his daughter, and the old
fool said it was the wife of his son; and the girl that he claimed was
his son's wife had the iron bracelet of a Hindu widow on her arm. And
the Gulab wears one--I saw it the night she danced."
A ghastly hush fell upon the three. Barlow was moaning inwardly, "Poor
Bootea!"; Hodson, fingers pressed to both temples, was trying to think
this was all the mistaken outburst of an angry woman. The
strong-faced, honest, fearless soldier sitting in the chair could not
be a traitor--_could not be_.
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