Colonel Carmichael looked at him. Throughout the interview Stafford had acted and spoken like a man who is weighed down by a burden of terrible doubt and perplexity. He alone of the three men had shown the first sign of emotion, and emotion in the face of death was for the Colonel no better than fear. His face hardened. "Well," he said, "what is it?" "Rajah Nehal Singh is not a barbarian," Stafford began. "I believe he would listen to reason if one of us could get hold of him. He seems to have his country's welfare at heart, and if it was explained to what horrible bloodshed he was leading it--" "There must be no cringing!" Colonel Carmichael interrupted sharply. "It will not be a case of cringing. We could simply put the matter before him." "There is something in what Stafford says," Nicholson agreed. "From what I know of the Rajah, he seems both reasonable and humane. He may have yielded to his father's importunities in a fit of anger, and is perhaps already wishing himself well out of the mess. For the women's sake, Colonel, we ought to have a shot--and not all for the women's sake, either. Heaven knows what this business will cost England if it comes to a head!" Colonel Carmichael bit his lip impatiently. He did not recognize his own motives of desiring a last hand-to-hand struggle. They were those of an old man who sees Cheltenham and stagnation looming in the distance and prays for death. But his common sense conquered the selfish promptings. "Who would be likely to undertake the mission with any hope of success?" he asked. "Nehal Singh and I were, toward the end, rather more than friendly," Nicholson began. "I believe he entertained a real liking for me--" "If any one goes, I must!" The interruption came from Stafford. His head was raised. He faced the two men with a stern determination. "No, Nicholson; I know all you want to say. I have no sort of sympathy with the natives--I haven't your power over them. But this is different. I have a power. I may have. Let me go. If I fail, then you can try." "By the time you have failed it will be too late," Nicholson returned. He was watching Stafford with almost pitying curiosity. His keen instinct penetrated the man's strained and nervous bearing to some conflict which seemed to have had its birth with the first mention of Nehal Singh's name. "It will not be too late," Stafford answered persistently. "I ask for an hour, Colonel. In an hour I shall know--whether--whether I have the power." "Captain Stafford, are you mad!" the Colonel said sternly. "This is not a time for experiments." "I ask for an hour," Stafford repeated, and there was an emphasis and earnestness in his voice which cut short Colonel Carmichael's angry sarcasm. "At the end of that time Nicholson can do what he likes. I am not mad. I beg of you to ask no questions. I can not answer them. I can only tell you that I have a great responsibility--toward you all and toward another."