But he checked his impulse to rush forward and confront the man.
Single-handed he could not cope with both the fugitives; and though, if
he had been free, he might have cast all prudence from him in his longing
to bring the man to book, he recollected his duty to Clive and remained
in silent rage beneath the tree.
All at once he heard a rustle behind him, a low growl like that of an
animal enraged; and almost before he was aware of what was happening a
dark figure sprang past him, leaped over the ground with the rapidity of
a panther, and threw himself upon the overseer just as with Diggle he was
beginning to move towards the town. There was a cry from each man, and
the red light falling upon the face of the assailant, Desmond saw with
amazement that it was the Gujarati, whom he had supposed to be rowing
along the shore to meet him.
He had hardly recognized the man before he saw that he was at deadly
grips with the overseer, both snarling like wild beasts. There was no
time for thought, for Diggle, momentarily taken aback by the sudden
onslaught, had recovered himself and was making with drawn sword toward
the two combatants, who in their struggle had moved away from him.
Desmond no longer stayed to weigh possibilities or count risks. It was
clear that Fuzl Khan's first onslaught had failed; had he got home, the
overseer, powerful as he was, must have been killed on the spot. In the
darkness the Gujarati's knife had probably missed its aim.
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