"Where to?" asked Noreen, holding the frenzied girl with all her strength. "To him. He's dead. Didn't you hear? He's dead. I must go to him." She struggled madly and beat fiercely at the hands that held her. "Let me go! Let me go! Oh, he's dead," she wailed. "Dead. And I loved him so. Oh, be merciful! Let me go to him!" and suddenly her strength gave way and she collapsed into Noreen's arms, weeping bitterly. They heard the clattering steps meet others coming down the hill and a hurried conversation ensue. Noreen recognised one of the voices. Then both men came running down. "It's the doctor," said Mrs. Dermot. "Come to the gate and we'll ask him what has happened." "Mr. Macdonald! Mr. Macdonald!" she cried as the hurrying footsteps drew near. "Who's that? Mrs. Dermot? For God's sake get into the house. There's a man running amuck. Wargrave's killed. I'm wanted"; and the doctor, taking no thought of danger to himself when there was need of his skill, ran on into the darkness. "I must--I will go!" cried Muriel. "Very well. Perhaps it's not true. We must know. We may be able to help," replied her friend. And with a word to Sher Afzul to guard her babies from danger she seized Muriel's hand, and the two girls ran towards the Fort in the track that Wargrave had followed to his death, it seemed. * * * * * Pistol in hand Wargrave had raced across the parade ground. At the gate of the Fort he was challenged; and when he answered an Indian officer came out of the darkness to him. "Sahib," he said hurriedly. "Havildar Mahommed Ashraf Khan has been shot in his bed in barracks. The sentry over the magazine is missing with his rifle." Wargrave entered the Fort. Opposite the guard-room the detachment was falling in rapidly, the men carrying their rifles and running up from their barrack-rooms in various stages of undress. By the flickering light of a lantern held up for him a non-commissioned officer was calling the roll, and his voice rumbled along in monotonous tones. The guard were standing under arms. "Put out that lamp!" cried the subaltern sharply. It would only serve to light up other marks for the invisible assassin if, like most men who run _amôk_, he meant to keep on killing until slain himself. "No; take it into the guard-room and shut the door." In the darkness the silence was intense, broken only by the heavy breathing of the unseen men and the clattering of the feet of some late-comer. Suddenly there rang out through the night the most appalling sound that had ever assailed Wargrave's ears. It was as the cry of a lost soul in all the agony of the damned, an eerie, unearthly wail that froze the blood in the listeners' veins. In the invisible ranks men shuddered and clutched at their neighbours. "_Khuda ke Nam men, kiya hai?_ (In the Name of God, what is that?)" gasped the subaltern. The Indian officer at his side answered in a low voice: