Appearances were kept up by an attenuated fatigue party, which was as markedly visible about the place as the rest of the garrison was not. Terrington, who had changed for polo, also made a peacefully indifferent figure as he strolled across to the mess-room and round the Residency garden, with a loose coat drawn over his riding-shirt, whose blue and silver showed in the scarf about his throat. He had returned to his orderly-room in the Fort, when news of the tragedy which was to wring from England a growl of vengeance was brought to the sentries at the Residency gate by the handful of blood-smeared horsemen who swept through it with broken and clotted lances and a crimson lather on their horses' flanks. Hussain Shah was holding Langford, mortally hurt, in the saddle, his huge figure swinging limply to and fro, and more than half that remnant of the escort reeled as they drew rein before the Residency door. Terrington was not the first to hear of the disaster, but he heard it in the most dramatic fashion; from Mrs. Chantry's lips. She had torn across the compound as the Lancers came to a blundering halt before the mess-room entrance, and dashed breathless into the orderly room, waiting no confirmation of the story that was told by their plight. She caught at her side, clutching with the other hand at the table, and for an instant panted, speechless, her face white as jasmine, above a big bow of creamy lace. Then, with a hard gasp of breath: "They're killed!" she cried. Terrington had sprung to his feet as she burst in upon him. "Who are?" he demanded. "Lewis and Sir Colvin," she panted, "and ... and most of the others. All but six or seven of them. Mr. Langford's there, but he's simply hacked; and all the men are streaming." A long thin wail broke from her with the horror of what she had seen, and she covered her eyes with both her hands. Terrington had stepped towards the doorway as he realized the significance of what she had seen. She put herself sharply in front of him, her head flung fiercely back. "What are you going to do?" she demanded. "You let them go like that, you _made_ them go like that! That's what's done it all! You wouldn't let them take the men! Aren't you going to try to save them? They mayn't be dead! Don't you think they mayn't be dead? If only you'll go at once; this moment! Take every one and smash them. Don't you think it's possible; just possible? And it wasn't I who did it, was it? was it really?" He laid a hand upon her shoulder to put her aside. "No, child," he said gently; "you had nothing to do with it." As he would have passed out, leaping footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Captain Walcot almost dashed into his arms. "Have you heard?" he cried. "What?" asked Terrington Walcot glanced with deprecation at Mrs. Chantry's figure. "Say what you know!" said Terrington. "Sir Colvin and Chantry have been murdered at the Durbar, and all the men they took in with them."