In about two hours they arrived at the house he had mentioned.
The gate was ajar; the door broken open. Hastily entering, Desmond knew
instinctively by the appearance of the place that it was deserted.

He went through the house from bottom to top. Not a living person was to
be seen. But in one of the rooms his quick eye caught sight of a small
hairpin such as only a European woman would use. He picked it up. In
another room a cooking pot had been left, and it was evident that it had
but lately been used. The simple furniture was in some disorder.

The khansaman had with much labor managed to mount the stairs.

"Allah is Allah!" he said. "They are gone!"

Chapter 26: In which presence of mind is shown to be next best
to absence of body.

The khansaman's surprise was clearly genuine, and Desmond refrained from
visiting on him his disappointment. Bitter as that was, his alarm was
still more keen. What had become of the ladies! With all his old
impulsiveness he had come to rescue them, never pausing to think of what
risks he himself might run. And now they were gone! Could Diggle have
suspected that his carefully-hidden tracks were being followed up, and
have removed the prisoners to some spot remoter from the river? It was
idle to speculate; they were gone; and there was no obvious clue to their
whereabouts.

The khansaman, limp and damp after his unwonted exercise, had squatted on
the floor and was fanning himself, groaning deeply. Desmond went to the
window of the room and looked out over the country; wondering, longing,
fearing. As he gazed disconsolately before him, he caught sight of a
party of horsemen rapidly approaching. Bidding the khansaman stifle his
groans, he watched them eagerly through the chiks of the window. Soon a
dozen native horsemen cantered up to the front gate and drew rein.

One of them, clad in turban of gold tissue, short blue jacket lavishly
decorated with gold, and crimson trousers, bade the rest dismount. He was
a tall man, a handsome figure in his fine array. He wore a sword with
hilt inlaid with gold, the scabbard covered with crimson velvet; and in
his girdle was stuck a knife with agate handle, and a small Moorish
dagger ornamented with gold and silver.

He stood for a time gazing as in perplexity at the broken gateway. His
face was concealed by his turban from Desmond, looking from above. But
when he directed his glance upward, Desmond, peering through the chiks,
could s