Ferrers hesitated for a moment. Could he allow the facts to which the Mirza alluded to become public? His uncle might laugh at them, though there were details by which even he would be disgusted, but Colin and Penelope would never speak to him again--of that he was certain. He moved away from the steps. “Go,” he said. “I will not give you the order you ask for, but if you keep secret what you know, I will allow you to escape.” “Then you will let Kīlin Sahib go free?” “Most certainly, if I can only convict him with the help of murder.” “And all that I have done--my services, my duty to those who sent me forth--am I to have no satisfaction?” “You shall have a halter if you don’t take yourself off. Never let me see your face again.” “Nay, sahib, think not you can cast me off; our fates are joined together. Rāss Sahib and his sister may seem to have gained possession of you for a time, but it is not so. The contest is yet to come, and the victory will be mine. We shall meet, and before very long, and you will know the full extent of the power I have over you.” The confidence of the man’s tone made Ferrers’ blood run cold. He took a step towards him, but the Mirza seemed to vanish into the darkness, and, search as he would, he could find no trace of him. Ferrers’ sleep was disturbed that night. He had often puzzled over the difficulty of breaking off his intercourse with the Mirza, but now that the Gordian knot had been cut for him he did not feel happy. It was clear that, for some reason or other, he could not imagine why, the evidence against Major Keeling was destined to break down, and this made it seem probable that he had been duped all along. And yet, as he had said to Penelope, how could he disbelieve the witness of his own eyes? He tossed and tumbled upon his bed, turning things over in his mind involuntarily and as if of necessity, as often happens in the wakeful hours of night. When at length he fell asleep, he woke again in horror, with a cold sweat breaking out all over him. What a detestable dream that had been! and yet it seemed to have no sense in it. There was a snake, and in some way or other the snake was also the Mirza, and Penelope was standing between him and it, trying to defend him. He himself seemed unable to move, and only wondered stupidly how it was that the snake did not attack Penelope. Then she stood aside for a moment, and he felt that the snake was beckoning to him--but how could it, when it was a snake?--and he slipped past Penelope, only to find that the snake was coiling itself round him. It was cold and clammy and stifling; its head was close to his face; it was just about to strike its murderous fangs into his temple, when not Penelope but Colin seized it by the neck and dragged it away, calling out, “George! George! get up!” With a vague idea that the snake had bitten Colin he sat up, to find that it was morning, and Colin was standing in the doorway of his room, and shouting to him to wake.