"Look here, Stafford," he said roughly, "what is it you want? I can
see you want something."
"Yes. Give me back my promise. I can not keep it any longer."
"Do you think I extort promises that I don't want kept? Are you in
earnest?"
"Yes, terribly in earnest. Look the thing in the face, Travers. Our
lives, and, what is far more, the lives of our women and Heaven knows
how many of our countrymen, hang in the balance. If you don't believe
me, ask Nicholson."
"I shall believe what I like!" Travers began to pace backward and
forward, his mind busy with lightning calculations. Before nightfall
they would be out of Marut. Stafford was exaggerating the danger,
perhaps for his own purposes. The whole thing was nonsense.
"I keep you to your promise," he said obstinately.
Stafford lifted his head. The man's natural reserve and
conventionalism were borne down by the sense of his helplessness. He
was fighting against a giant of egoism, as it seemed to him, of gross
and criminal stupidity, for the lives of untold hundreds.
"You can not realize what you are doing," he said. "It is our one hope
of holding the Rajah's hand, and with every moment the danger is
increasing. As I came along the road I passed crowds of natives on the
way to the palace. Most of them were men from your mine, Travers, and
they had an ugly look. They did not touch me, it is true, but I
believe they are only waiting for Nehal Singh's order, and then it
will be too late.
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