sly to the
window.

As he did so, a voice he scarcely recognized--a woman's voice--spoke,
tensely, hoarsely, close to him.

"Tommy, stop that man! Don't let him go! He is a murderer,--do you hear?
He is the man who murdered my husband!"

Bernard stepped over the sill and closed the window after him. The
lanterns were still swaying in the night-breeze. By their light he took
in the group upon the verandah. Peter was sitting bent forward in the
chair from which he had lifted Tessa. His snowy garments were deeply
stained with blood. Beside him in a crouched and apelike attitude,
apparently on the point of departure, was the shadowy native who had
saved his life. Tommy, still fantastic and clown-like in his green and
white pyjama-suit, was holding a glass for Peter to drink. And upright
before them all, with accusing arm outstretched, her eyes shining like
stars out of the shadows, stood Stella.

She turned to Bernard as he came forward. "Don't let him escape!" she
said, her voice deep with an insistence he had never heard in it before.
"He escaped last time. And there may not be another chance."

Tommy looked round sharply. "Leave the man alone!" he said. "You don't
know what you're talking about, Stella. This affair has upset you. It's
only old Rustam Karin."

"I know. I know. I have known for a long time that it was Rustam Karin
who killed Ralph." Stella's voice vibrated on a strange note. "He may be
Everard's chosen friend," she said. "But a day will come when he will
turn upon him too. Bernard," she spoke with sudden appeal, "you know
everything. I have told you of this man. Surely you will help me! I have
made no mistake. Peter will corroborate what I say. Ask Peter!"

At sound of his name Peter lifted a ghastly face and tried to rise, but
Tommy swiftly prevented him.

"Sit still, Peter, will you? You're much too shaky to walk. Finish this
stuff first anyhow!"

Peter sank back, but there was entreaty in his gleaming eyes. They had
bandaged his injured arm across his breast, but with his free hand he
made a humble gesture of submission to his mistress.

"_Mem-sahib_," he said, his voice low and urgent, "he is a good man--a
holy man. Suffer him to go his way!"

The man in question had withdrawn into the shadows. He was in fact
beating an unobtrusive retreat towards the corner of the bungalow, and
would probably have effected his escape but for Bernard, who, moved by
the anguished entreaty in Stella's eyes,