missing fetlocks and bellies by a breath, bolting and feinting and furious.
And then the maharaja came off his horse. I was looking straight at him when he did it, or I shouldn’t have believed it: I saw him toss his spear to one side and kick free of the stirrups, dropping to the ground, completely defenceless and grinning like a schoolboy. The boar was facing Nesbit at that moment, but the animal heard the sound behind it and started to whirl about. Without thinking, I shouted some nonsense sounds and kicked my horse forward, waving the spear over my head. The horse quite sensibly refused to take more than a couple of steps, but that was sufficient to attract the boar’s attention and turn it back to face me. It lowered its head to charge, but before it could find traction, its hind legs were jerked up from the ground, both of them, by the maharaja.
Incredulously, I watched the boar twist and scrabble to free itself, snorting and screaming its outrage, but the small man’s strength somehow held it up, and then Nesbit’s spear took it in the side, and it dropped, dead before it hit the earth.
My spear-head slumped to the ground as I fought for breath, but Nesbit had dropped off his horse and was standing over the dead pig, panting and shaking his head at his friend, who had collapsed to the ground behind the pig, still grinning.
“Jimmy,” Nesbit managed to gasp out. “What the hell was that about?”
“I haven’t done that since I was a boy,” the maharaja said when he’d got his breath. “Didn’t know if I still could.”
“Christ! I wish you’d warned me.”
“Where would the fun in that be?”
Nesbit stared, then gave a bark of laughter and thrust out his hand. Our host took it, allowing himself to be pulled upright, and they stood shoulder to shoulder admiring the dead animal until the appalled servants had brought the horses back. Both men mounted, and the maharaja surveyed the scene.
“I can’t imagine we’ll improve on that kill. Shall we let the day stand?”
I tried not to show how abjectly grateful I was.
Nesbit and I lagged behind the others on the ride back, and I told him about Holmes’ note. To my surprise he nodded at the list of requests.
“Not a problem. How much rope does he mean?”
I started to tell him that I thought it would be for tying prisoners, but hesitated. In that case, wouldn’t Holmes have specified “twine”? The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He had, after all, had some time to consider the contents of the note. “I shouldn’t think all that much. He says he’s being held on the first floor.”
“But if we need to come off the roof?”
“You’re right. Where are we going to get that much strong rope?”
“Again, not a problem, unless Jimmy’s had the lumber-room cleared out. He had a team of mountain-climbers here a few years ago, bought the equipment for learning, I shouldn’t think he’s used it since. And the morphia? How much of that does he require, do you suppose?”
Of that I felt more certain. “If it had been for more than three or four people, he’d have specified. Is that also in the lumber-room?”
“Morphia I carry with me.” He caught my look, and smiled. “And skin dye, which I shall bring as well. One simply never knows what emergency may come up.”
My spirits rose somewhat; we might yet pull this off.
They dipped again at dinner, when our host stormed in, after keeping us all waiting for half an hour, back in the strange, unsettled state of the morning, if not worse. Nesbit worked hard to keep him entertained and on a straight track, although it was quite a job, made no easier by the grim determination with which the maharaja drank and the black looks he shot at the Englishman. My heart sank when the prince abruptly dismissed most of the hangers-on and told Nesbit to come with him to the gun-room. But Nesbit demurred.
“Look, old man,” Nesbit said pleasantly, “another night like the last one, and I won’t be fit for the Cup next month, far less whatever you’ve got planned for tomorrow. Thanks, but I’m for bed.” He drained his glass and stood up; the prince’s dark eyes narrowed, and I braced for an eruption.
But it did not come. Instead, the maharaja seemed to have been distracted by something in what Nesbit said; he sat back in his chair, smiling as at a private joke. “The Kadir Cup, yes. Britain’s honour at stake, and it will be arranged that India will lose yet again. But tomorrow, on India’s ground? Yes, Nesbit, let’s see what you do with my entertainment tomorrow.”
He waved a hand of dismissal, and we left, but as we went out of the door I suddenly understood the traditional method of bowing oneself out of the royal presence: It was not out of respect, but for reluctance of presenting one’s back to the throne.
In the hall-way, I murmured to the man beside me, “I don’t know that I cared much for the sound of that.”
“It had the distinct ring of a gauntlet thrown, did it not? Wouldn’t be the first time, you know. Still, if he offers a round of tiger sticking, I really shouldn’t volunteer if I were you.”
I thought he was joking, until I looked at his face. My God,
In compensation for the disturbances of the night before, New Fort quieted quickly. I left my lights burning until half past eleven, and then wandered out, again wearing a dressing-gown over dark clothing, and stood on the outside walkway, smoking a cigarette. As was my habit, I offered one to the squatting servant, holding the match to him without thinking, then strolled away to gaze over the courtyard garden, comprised of mysterious shapes in the moonlight.
It took less than ten minutes for this particular cigarette to have its effect on the man. The moment I heard him slither to the side, I walked back and propped him upright, then went to Nesbit’s door and put my head inside. He was there waiting, his clothes black, face half-hidden by a dark scarf. We slid through the silent hall-ways like wraiths, and he knew precisely where he was going.
In half an hour, we were looking up at the walls of the older fort, black against the moonlit sky. I settled the decorative revolver in the back of my belt, and prepared to storm Khanpur’s castle.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The moon rode blessedly near full in a cloudless sky, which made the task of approach far easier. Of course, had anyone been watching for us, it would have simplified their job as well, but they did not seem to be doing so, and we slunk up the road in the shadow of the wall, gaining the gates without an alarm being raised.
The entrance to Old Fort was a mirror image of the other, but less well-kept-up. The paving stones were uneven underfoot, and where the western fort smelt of sandalwood and flowers, even from its gate, here the air was heavy with must and decay. The slovenliness extended to the guards as well. In the courtyard two men had made a fire, and sat warming themselves as they ate something from tin bowls; one of them had his back to us.
I put my mouth to Nesbit’s ear, and breathed a question. “Just the two?”
I felt him nod, and followed him as he crept into the gateway, our sleeves brushing the massive wooden doors that I had never seen closed, keeping to the side of the passage lest we be outlined against the moon-bright sky behind us. He stopped where the passage opened into the inner courtyard, then slowly leant forward to peep around the corner; over his shoulder I could see the two men, who were arguing loudly over something in the local language. Nesbit reached back to touch my arm in warning, then stepped out, moving lightly around the wall to the arcades that began twenty feet from the gates. My heart leapt into my throat, but I followed, even though it was impossible that neither guard would spot us—we were in the open, less than fifty feet from them.
Yet they didn’t. They kept arguing, kept eating, and then we were behind the first column, my pulse racing furiously. My God, this Englishman was madder than the maharaja!
He led me along the arcade that circled the open yard, a smaller version of the New Fort’s, although the only resemblance to a garden here was one lone tree growing against the walk directly across from the gates, which even in the thin light looked half dead. When we had circled two-thirds of the complex, Nesbit began to feel for a door. We were nearly to the gates again when he found one; the latch lifted easily, the door’s creaks were minor,
