"It is _the_ one, Jamadar," the guard declared, thrusting his face into
Barlow's; "it is the Afghan. Beyond doubt there will be blood upon his
clothes--look to it, Jamadar."

"We found the Afghan in the _serai_, and he was attending to his horse
as if about to fly; beyond doubt he is the murderer of our Chief," one
who had ridden with the jamadar said.

"Bring the murderer face to face with his foul deed," the jamadar
commanded; and clasped by both arms, pinioned, Barlow was pushed
through the gate and into the dim-lighted hall. In the scuffle of the
passing Hunsa sought to slip through, impelled by a devilish
fascination to hear all that would be said in the death-chamber. If
the case against the Sahib were short and decisive--perhaps they might
slice him into ribbons with their swords--Hunsa would then have nothing
to fear, and need not attempt flight.

But the guard swept him back with the butt of his long smooth-bore,
crying: "Dog, where go you?" Then he saw that it was Hunsa, the
messenger of his Chiefs favourite--as he took the Gulab to be--and he
said: "You cannot enter, Hunsa. It is a matter for the jamadars alone."

At that instant the Gulab slipped through the struggling groups in the
street, the Pindaris gallantly making way for her. She had heard of
the murder of the Chief, and had seen the dragging in of the Afghan.

"Let me go up, guard," she pleaded.

"It is a matter for men," he objected. "The jamadar would be angry,
and my sword and gun would be taken away and I should be put to scrub