er. For all
one knew he might encounter the murderer on his way. Wargrave thrust
Mrs. Dermot's pistol into the sepoy's hand, saying, "Give the sahib
that."

The man, who was barefoot, ran out of the chamber and went to his own
barrack-room for his shoes, for the road was rocky and covered with
sharp stones. The subaltern turned away with a sigh from the bedside of
his poor comrade. He could do nothing now but avenge him. As he walked
away from the group he trod on an empty cartridge case and picked it up.
It had recently been fired. It told its tale; for it showed that the
assassin had reloaded over his victim and intended that the killing
should not end there. If he were the missing sentry then he had nine
more cartridges left--nine human lives in his blood-stained hand. And as
the subaltern crossed the verandah outside the barrack-room the
_jemadar_ met him and reported that all the rifles of the detachment had
been examined and found clean except the missing weapon of the sentry, a
young Pathan sepoy called Gul Mahommed. It was remembered that the dying
_havildar_ (sergeant) had reprimanded him hotly on the previous day for
appearing on parade with accoutrements dirty. So little a cause was
needed to send a man to his death!

The first thing to be done now was to hunt for the murderer. While he
went free no one's life was safe. Wargrave shuddered at the thought of
danger coming to Muriel or her friend, and he hoped that they were
safely shut in their house. It was a difficult problem to know where to
begin the search. The Fort was full of hiding-places, especially at
night. And already the assassin might have escaped over the low wall
surrounding it. As Wargrave stood perplexed another Indian officer ran
up, accompanied by two men with rifles.

"Sahib! Sahib!" he whispered excitedly. "The murderer is in my room, the
one next that in which Ashraf Kahn was shot. I left the door wide open
when I ran out. It is now shut and bolted from the inside and someone is
moving about in it."

The subaltern went along the verandah to the door and tried it. It was
firmly fastened.

"Here, sahib!" cried a sepoy who ran up with a comrade carrying a heavy
log.

"_Shahbash_! (Well done!) Break in the door," said Wargrave.

Other men, who had come up, seized the long log and dashed it violently
against the door. The bolt held, but the frail hinges gave way and the
door fell in.

"Stand back!" cried Wargrave.

It seemed certa