He had not gone far when the big Jailer, mounted on a strong brown horse, appeared, also making for the town. "They're all agog, seemingly! Zynool hasn't been able to keep his plan of attack so secret as he ought," muttered Rayner. "But it will give them a bit of a scare anyhow!" he chuckled. Presently two Eurasian clerks passed him on foot. In their haste one of them knocked up against him. "Out of the way, old amah, if you don't want to be shoved down," he said, brushing past; then remarked to his companion, "I daresay the poor soul thinks she's safer on the road to-night than in the town." Rayner followed them closely, and in the stillness of the evening air could catch fragments of their shrill conversation. "Oh, my gracious, what a lark this is! I wonder if the Collector will come in? The Doctor thought he should, but I could see the 'Sub.' didn't want it." "That's because he wants to protect the Collector from the row. Mr. Cheveril adores him and looks after him as if he were a babee ever since his poison illness." "Mr. Cheveril is an awfulee good sort--and to think he is one of us! I say, Mike, don't it give a fellow more heart to have him taking up our cause like thatt? Though to my eyes, he looks more an Anglo-Saxon than a Eurasian." "Just what I told the young fool," muttered Rayner. "If only he hadn't mixed himself up with that lot, he might have passed anywhere for a pucka Englishman." The clerks had now disappeared round a bend of the road, and the silence remained unbroken till the noise of horse's hoofs sounded behind. It was the Collector himself, riding a beautiful black mare. Rayner shrank into the shadow as much as possible, but he could see that Mr. Worsley's face looked grave, though his eyes were bright, and he managed his mettlesome steed with elegant ease. "Why, the whole _sahib-log_ has turned out," thought Rayner. "I'll give the town as wide a berth as possible, and slink up by the back streets to the station." He walked on, congratulating himself that at least there was no risk of meeting any of the English contingent, seeing they had all gone townwards. Soon he came to the little English cantonment, as it was still called, though the military element had been withdrawn. It was not unknown to him. He had visited it and left cards on some of the residents in earlier days, before he began to intrigue with Zynool and became conscious that he was a suspected person. He liked to dwell on these days now. "I was a fool ever to have leagued myself with a native," he sighed. "It's only brought me bad luck in the end." He remembered, too, a pleasant afternoon he had passed as the recipient of little Mrs. Samptor's hospitality. He was trying to identify her bungalow when he heard voices. Two ladies stood talking at a gate. He was startled to recognise Mrs. Samptor's voice, but decided his best policy was to creep quietly past, sustaining his _rôle_ as an old ayah in every particular.