"Who is that, ayah?" she demanded.
The ayah shrank into herself and showed the whites of her eyes and
grinned, as a pariah dog might show its teeth--afraid, but scenting
carrion.
"Go and see!"
The ayah shuddered and collapsed, babbling incoherencies and calling
on a horde of long-neglected gods to witness she was innocent. She
clutched strangely at her breast and used only one hand to drag her
shawl around her face. While she babbled she glanced wild-eyed around
the long, low-ceilinged room. Ruth Bellairs looked down at her pityingly
and went to the door herself and opened it.
"Salaam, memsahib!" boomed a deep voice from the darkness.
Ruth Bellairs started and the ayah screamed.
"Who are you? Enter--let me see you!"
A black beard and a turban and the figure of a man--and then white
teeth and a saber-hilt and eyes that gleamed moved forward from the
darkness.
"It is I, Mahommed Khan!" boomed the voice again, and the Risaldar
stepped out into the lamplight and closed the door behind him. Then,
with a courtly, long-discarded sweep of his right arm, he saluted.
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