derers--and call it--sport!" she said slowly.

"No, I call it justice." He still spoke gently though his face had
hardened again. "That child has a sense of justice, quite elementary,
but a true one. If I could get hold of the man who killed Ermsted, I
would cheerfully kill him with my own hand--unless I could be sure that
he would get his deserts from the Government who are apt to be somewhat
slack in such matters."

Stella shivered again. "Do you know, Everard, I can't bear to hear you
talk like that? It is the untamed, savage part of you."

He drew her to him. "Yes, the soldier part. I know. I know quite well.
But my dear, do me the justice at least to believe that I am on the side
of right! I can't do other than talk generalities to you. You simply
wouldn't understand. But there are some criminals who can only be beaten
with their own weapons, remember that. Nicholson knew that--and applied
it. I follow--or try to follow--in Nicholson's steps."

She clung to him suddenly and closely. "Oh, don't--don't! This is
another age. We have advanced since then."

"Have we?" he said sombrely. "And do you think the India of to-day can
be governed by weakness any more successfully than the India of
Nicholson's time? You have no idea what you say when you talk like that.
Ermsted is not the first Englishman to be killed in this State. The
Rajah of Markestan is too wily a beast to go for the large game at the
outset, though--probably--the large game is the only stuff he cares
about. He knows too well that there are eyes that watch perpetually, and
he won't expose himself--if he can help it. The trouble is he doesn't
always know where to look for the eyes that watch."

A certain exultation sounded in his voice, but the next instant he bent
and kissed her.

"Why do you dwell on these things? They only trouble you. But I think
you might remember that since they exist, someone has to deal with
them."

"You don't trust Ahmed Khan?" she said. "You think he is treacherous?"

He hesitated; then: "Ahmed Khan is either a tiger or--merely a jackal,"
he said. "I don't know which at present. I am taking his measure."

She still held him closely. "Everard," her voice came low and
breathless, "you think he was responsible for Captain Ermsted's death.
May he not have been also for--for--"

He checked her sharply before Ralph Dacre's name could leave her lips.
"No. Put that out of your mind for good! You have no reason to suspect
foul