There was no need.

Something moved swiftly like a black ghost through the open door.

There was a thud--and the ring of a steel swivel--and a scream.
"Has the sahib a match ?" said a gruff voice that I thought I recognized.
I was trembling--excitement, of course--only children and women and foreigners ever feel afraid! It took me half a minute to find the match box, and the other half to strike a light.
Narayan Singh was standing by the end of the table.

He was wiping blood off his bayonet with a piece of newspaper.

He looked cool enough to have carried the paper in his pocket for that purpose.