“What a fool I am!” he cried. “It proves nothing to produce the Sheikh alone. If they don’t see us together, they may still make out that I am personating him. Haigh would be considered a biassed witness, I suppose. But it’s too late to change now, and I could never have left him here as the hostage.” CHAPTER XI. JUSTIFIED. “They’re coming back!” cried Lady Haigh. She and Penelope had taken up a position upon the western rampart, and were straining their eyes in the direction of Sheikhgarh. To their extreme disgust Mr Crayne had followed them, and wishing to make himself agreeable, sent for his secretary to deliver an impromptu lecture on the subject of eclipses, being apparently under the impression that they had come up to get a good view of the sun. It was this lecture that Lady Haigh interrupted by her sudden exclamation. “You must have wonderful sight, ma’am,” said Mr Crayne politely; “but you are accustomed to this sandy atmosphere, ain’t you?” The Commissioner’s manner of speech was not vulgar, only old-fashioned. Forty years before, when he had sailed for India, every one in polite society said “ain’t.” “Oh dear, I wish it wasn’t so dark!” sighed Lady Haigh, disregarding the compliment. “I can only see that there are four riders in front, and some more behind. No, I caught a glimpse of Dugald that moment, and I saw the turbans of two troopers--no, three. Why, it is Major Keeling in native dress!” “He throws up the sponge, then!” chuckled Mr Crayne grimly. “Elma, what can you mean?” cried Penelope. “Major Keeling is not there at all.” “My dear young lady”--Mr Crayne was decidedly shocked--“the warmth of your partisanship does you credit, but allow me to say that you are carrying it to extremes. Perhaps you observe that the guard is turning out and presenting arms?” “Oh, but that shows it must be a distinguished stranger--doesn’t it?” said Lady Haigh, in rather a shaky voice. “Major Keeling does not go about turning out guards all day long.” “Lend me your field-glass, please,” said Penelope sharply to the secretary, and when he complied she looked through it steadily at the approaching party. Then she thrust the glass into Lady Haigh’s hand with a gasp that was almost a sob. “There, Elma, look! I knew it wasn’t. It’s not in the least like him.” “My dear Pen, I’m quite ready to agree that it isn’t Major Keeling if you say so, but it’s the image of him.” “Oh, there may be a slight surface likeness, but there isn’t the least look of him really. The expression is absolutely different,” said Penelope calmly. “Let Mr Crayne look.” “I can’t pretend to judge of expressions at this distance,” said Mr Crayne drily; “but it strikes me you are fighting in a lost cause, Miss Ross. Here is one of the troopers riding on first with a message, which will no doubt show you your mistake.”