"That accounts for it. Look here, Major, I've seen this trick with the
snake before. Not long ago I tried to hang the servant of a rich _bunniah_
for murdering his master by means of it, but the Sessions Judge wouldn't
convict him. If you look you'll see that that brute"--he pointed to the
cobra writhing in agony on the bed and sinking its fangs into its own
flesh--"never got up there by itself. It was put there. Otherwise it would
have left a clear trail in the thick dust on the floor, but there isn't a
sign."

"Yes, I spotted that," said Dermot, lighting a cigarette over the lamp
chimney. "I see the game. My lamp--which was here, for I dressed for dinner
by its light--was taken away, so that I'd have to go to bed in the dark;
and, by Jove, I very nearly did! Then I'd have kicked against the cobra as
I got in, and been bitten. The lamp would have been put back in the morning
before I was 'found.' Look here, Barclay, I owe you a lot. Without you I'd
be dead in two hours."

"Or less. Sometimes the bite is fatal in forty minutes. Yes, there's no
doubt of it, you'd have been done for. Lucky thing I hadn't gone to bed and
heard you. Now, what'll we do with the brute?"

He looked at the writhing snake.

"Wait a minute. Where are the matches?"

He picked up a box from the dressing-table, moved the chair from the door
and left the room. In a minute or two he returned, carrying an old
porcelain vase, and shut the door.

"I found this stuck away with a lot of rubbish in the outer room," he said.
"I don't suppose any one will miss it."

Dermot watched him with curiosity as he placed the vase on the floor near
the bed and picked up the cane. Putting its point under the cobra he lifted
the wriggling body on the stick and with some difficulty dropped the snake
into the vase, where they heard its head striking the sides with furious
blows.

"I hope it won't break the damned thing just when I'm carrying it," he
said, regarding the vase anxiously.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Dermot.

The police officer lowered his voice.

"Well, Major, we don't want these would-be murderers to know how their
trick failed. That's the reason I didn't pound the brute to a jelly on the
bed, for it would have made such a mess on the sheet. Now there isn't a
speck on it. I'll take the vase with me into my room and finish the cobra
off. In the morning I'll get rid of its body somehow. When these devils
find tomorrow that you're not dead, they'll be very puzzled. Now, the
question is, what are you going to do?"

"Going to bed," answered Dermot, continuing to undress. "There's nothing
else to be done at this hour, is there?"

The police officer looked at him with admiration.

"By George, sir, you've got pluck. If it were I, I'd want to sit up all
night with a pistol."

"Not you. Otherwise you wouldn't be in the place at all. Besides you are
qualifying for delicate little attentions like this." And Dermot flicked
the ash of his cigarette into the vase in which the cobra still writhed and
twisted.

"Oh, well, they haven't tumbled to me yet," said the young police officer,
making light of his own courage. "I suppose you won't make any fuss about
this?"

"Of course not. We've got no proof against any one."

"But do you think it wise for you to stay on here, sir? They'll only try
again."

Dermot lit a fresh cigarette.

"Well, it can't be helped. It's all in the day's work. I'm due to stay here
two days more, and I'm damned if I'm going to move before then. As you
know, it doesn't do to show these people the white feather. Besides, I'm
rather interested to see what they'll try next."

"You're a cool hand, Major. Well, since you look at it that way, there's
nothing more to be said. I see you're ready for bed, so I'll take my lamp
and bit of pottery, and trek."

"Oh, just one moment, Barclay." Dermot sank his voice. "Did you notice the
Rajah's catch-'em-alive-ohs on sentry?"

"You mean his soldiers? No, I can't say I did."

"Well, just have a look at them tomorrow. I want to have a talk with you
about them."

"I'd like to strip these bed-clothes off. I don't fancy them after the
snake. Luckily it's so hot that one doesn't want even a sheet tonight. Let
me see if there's another cobra under the pillow. It's said that they
generally go about in pairs." He turned over the pillow. "No; that's all
right."

"Hold on a minute," whispered Barclay, raising the lamp above his head with
his left hand. "Let's see if there's any concealed entrance to the room. I
daresay these old palaces are full of secret passages and masked doors."

He sounded the walls and floors and examined them carefully.

"Seems all right. I'll be off now. Good-night, Major. I hope you'll not be
disturbed. If there's any trouble fire a shot and I'll be here in two
shakes. I've got a pistol, and by Jingo I'll have it handy tonight. Keep
yours ready, too."

"I shall. Now a thousand thanks for your help, Barclay," said the soldier,
shaking his friend's hand.

Then he closed the door behind the police officer and by the light of a
match piled chairs against it. Then he lay down on the bed, put the pistol
under the edge of the mattress and ready to his hand, and fell asleep at
once.

Early in the morning he was aroused by a vigorous knocking and heard
Barclay's voice outside the door.

"Are you all right, Major?" it said.

"Yes, thanks. Good-morning," replied the soldier. "Come in. No, wait a
minute."

He jumped out of bed and removed the barricade. Barclay entered in his
pyjamas. Lowering his voice he said:

"Anything happen during the night?"

"I don't think so. I slept soundly and heard nothing. You're up early,"
replied the soldier, picking up the blankets and sheets from the floor and
spreading them carelessly on the bed to make it look as if he had used
them.

"Yes; those infernal birds make such a confounded row. It's like being in
an aviary," said Barclay.

Dermot threw open the wooden shutters. Outside the window was a small
balcony. On the roofs and verandahs of the Palace scores of grey-hooded
crows were perched, filling the air with discordant sounds. Up in the pale
blue sky the wheeling hawks whistled shrilly. Down in the courtyard below
yellow-beaked _mynas_ chattered volubly.

"Don't they make a beastly row? How is a fellow to sleep?" grumbled
Barclay. "Look at that cheeky beggar."

A hooded crow perched on the railing of the balcony and, apparently
resenting his remarks, cawed defiantly at him. The Deputy Superintendent
picked up one of Dermot's slippers and was about to hurl it at the bird,
when a voice from the doorway startled him.

"_Char, Huzoor!_ (Tea, Your Excellency!)"

He looked round. One of the Palace servants stood at the door holding a
tray containing tea and buttered toast.

Dermot directed the man to put the tray on the dressing-table, and when the
servant had salaamed and left the room, he walked over to it and looked at
the food.

"Now, is it safe to eat that?" he said. "I've no fear of the grub they
serve in the dining-hall, for they wouldn't dare to poison us all. But
somehow I have my doubts about any nice little meal prepared exclusively
for me."

"I think you're right there, Major," said Barclay, who was sitting on the
edge of the bed.

"We'll see. There isn't the usually handy pi-dog to try it on. But we'll
make use of our noisy friend here. He won't be much loss to the world if it
poisons him," and Dermot broke off a piece of the toast and threw it on the
floor of the balcony. The crow stopped his cawing, cocked his head on one
side, and eyed the tempting morsel. Buttered toast did not often come his
way. He dropped down on to the balcony floor, hopped over to the toast,
pecked at it, picked it up in his strong beak, and flew with it to the roof
of the building opposite. In silence the two men watched him devour it.

"That seems all right, Major," said the police officer. "You've made him
your friend for life. He's coming back for more."

The crow perched on the rail again and cawed loudly.

"Oh, shut up, you greedy bird. Here's another bit for you. That's all
you'll have. I want the rest myself," said Dermot, laughing. He broke off
another piece and threw it out on to the balcony.

The crow looked at it, ruffled its feathers, shook itself--and then fell
heavily to the floor of the balcony and lay still.

"Good heavens! What an escape!" ejaculated Barclay, suddenly pale.

The two men stared at each other and the dead bird in silence. Then Dermot
murmured:

"This is getting monotonous. Hang it! They _are_ in a hurry. Why, they
couldn't even know whether I was alive or not. If the snake trick had come
off, I'd be a corpse now and this nice little meal would have been wasted.
Really, they are rather crowding things on me."

"They're taking no chances, the devils," said the younger man, who was more
upset by the occurrence than his companion.

"Well, I'll have to do without my _chota hazri_; and I do like a cup of tea
in the morning," said the soldier; and he began to shave. Glancing out of
the window he continued: "They've got a fine day for the show anyway."

Barclay sprang up from the chair on which he had suddenly sat down. His
nerve was shaken by the two attempts on his companion's life.

"Damn them and their shows, the infernal murderers," he muttered savagely,
and rushed out of the room.

"Amen!" said Dermot, as he lathered his face. Death had been near him too
often before for him to be disturbed now. So he went on shaving.

Before he left the room he poured tea into the cup on the tray and got rid
of the rest of the toast, to make it appear that he had freely partaken of
the meal. He wrapped up the dead crow in paper and locked it in his
despatch-case, until he could dispose of it that evening after dark.

Noreen had slept little during the night. All through the weary hours of
darkness she had tossed restlessly on her bed, tortured by thoughts that
revolved in monotonous circles around Dermot. What was she to believe of
him? What were the relations between him and her friend? He had seemed very
cold to Ida when they met and had avoided her all day. And she did not
appear to mind. What had happened between them? Had they quarrelled? It did
not disturb Ida's rest, for the girl could hear her regular breathing all
night long, the door between their rooms being open. Was it possible that
she and Dermot were acting indifference to deceive the people around them?

Only towards morning did Noreen fall into a troubled, broken sleep, and she
dreamt that the man she loved was in great danger. She woke up in a fright,
then dozed again. She was hollow-eyed and unrefreshed when a bare-footed
native "boy" knocked at her door and left a tray with her _chota hazri_ at
it. She could not eat, but she drank the tea thirstily.

Pleading fatigue she remained in her room all the morning and refused to go
down to _tiffin_. When the other guests were at lunch in the dining-hall a
message was brought her that Chunerbutty begged to see her urgently. She
went down to the lounge, where he was waiting. Struck by her want of
colour, he enquired somewhat tenderly what ailed her. She replied
impatiently that she was only fatigued by the previous day's journey, and
asked rather crossly why he wanted to see her.

"I have something nice for you," he said smiling. "Something I was to give
you."

Glancing around to make sure that they were unobserved, he opened a
sandalwood box that he held in his hand and took out a large, oval
leather case, which he offered to her.

"What is this?" she asked in surprise.

"Open it and see," he replied.

The girl did so unsuspectingly. It was lined with blue velvet, and resting
in it was a necklace of diamonds in quaint and massive gold setting,
evidently the work of a native jeweller. The stones, though badly cut, were
very large and flashed and sparkled with coloured fires. The ornament was
evidently extremely valuable. Noreen stared at it and then at Chunerbutty
in surprise.

"What does this mean?" she demanded, an ominous ring in her voice.

"Just a little present to you from a friend," replied the Hindu, evidently
thinking that the girl was pleased with the magnificent gift.

"For me? Are these stones real?" she asked quietly.

"Rather. Why, that necklace must be worth thousands of pounds. The fact is
that it's a little present from the Rajah, who admires you awfully. He----"

Noreen's eyes blazed, and she was on the point of bursting into angry
words; but, controlling herself with an effort, she thrust the case back
into his hands and said coldly:

"You know little of English women, Mr. Chunerbutty, if you think that they
accept presents like that from strangers. This may be the Rajah's
ignorance, but it looks more like insolence."

She turned to go; but, stopping her, he said:

"Oh, but you don't understand. He's a great friend of mine and he knows
that I'm awfully fond of you, little girl. So he's ready to do anything for
us and give me a----"

She walked past him, her eyes blazing with anger, with so resolute an air
that he drew back and watched her go. She went straight to her room and
remained there until Ida came to tell her that it was time to dress for the
celebration of the Puja festival.

In the outer courtyard of the Palace six of the Rajah's State elephants,
their tusks gilded and foreheads gaudily painted, caparisoned with rich
velvet housings covered with heavy gold embroidery trailing almost to the
ground, bearing on their backs gold or silver howdahs fashioned in the
shape of temples, awaited the European guests. Chunerbutty, when allotting
positions as Master of Ceremonies, took advantage of his position to
contrive that Noreen should accompany him on the elephant on which he was
to lead the line. The girl discovered too late that they were to be alone
on it, except for the _mahout_ on its neck. Dermot and Barclay managed to
be together on another animal.

When all were in position in the howdahs, to which they climbed by ladders,
the gates were thrown open, and through a mob of salaaming retainers the
elephants emerged with stately tread on the great square in front of the
Palace and proceeded through the city. The houses were gaily decorated.
Flags and strips of coloured cloth fluttered from every building; gaudy
carpets and embroideries hung from the innumerable balconies and windows.
The elephants could scarcely force a passage through the narrow streets, so
crowded were they with swarms of men, women, and children in holiday
attire, all going in one direction. Their destination was the park of the
_Moti Mahal_ or Pearl Palace, the Rajah's summer residence outside the
walls of the city.

There the enormous crowd was kept back by red-robed retainers armed with
_tulwars_--native curved swords--leaving clear a wide stretch of open
ground, in the centre of which on a gigantic altar was the image of the
Goddess Kali. Before it a magnificent bull was firmly secured by chains and
ropes to stout posts sunk deep in the earth. The animal's head drooped and
it could hardly stand up, for it had been heavily drugged for the day's
ceremony and was scarcely conscious.

The Rajah's army was drawn up in line fronting the altar, but some distance
away from it. Two old muzzle-loading nine-pounder guns, their teams of
powerful bullocks lying contentedly behind on the grass, formed the right
of the line. Then came the cavalry, consisting of twenty _sowars_ on
squealing white stallions with long tails dyed red. Left of them was the
infantry, two hundred sepoys in shakoes, red coatees, white trousers, and
bare feet, leaning on long percussion-capped muskets with triangular
bayonets.

Shortly after the Europeans had arrived and their elephants taken up their
position on one side of the ground, cheering announced the coming of the
Rajah. The cannons were discharged by slow matches and the infantrymen,
raising their muskets, fired a ragged volley into the air. Then towards the
altar of Kali the Rajah was seen approaching in a long gilded car shaded by
a canopy of cloth-of-gold and drawn by an enormous elephant, richly
caparisoned. Two gold-laced, scarlet-clad servants were perched on the back
of the car, waving large peacock-feather fans over their monarch. A line of
carriages followed, conveying the _Dewan_, the Durbar officials, the
Ministers of the State and the leading nobles of Lalpuri. After the first
volley, which scattered the horses of the cavalry, the artillery and
infantry loaded and fired independently as fast as their antiquated weapons
permitted, until the air was filled with smoke and the acrid smell of
gunpowder.

The Rajah, hemmed in by spearmen with levelled points and followed by all
his suite with drawn swords, timidly approached the bull, _tulwar_ in hand.
The animal was too dazed to lift its head. The Rajah raised his gleaming
blade and struck at the nape of its neck, and at the same moment two
swordsmen hamstrung it. Immediately the _Dewan_, Ministers, and nobles
crowded in and hacked at the wretched beast as it lurched and fell heavily
to the ground. The warm blood spurted out in jets and covered the officials
and nobles as they cut savagely at the feebly struggling carcase, and the
red liquid splashed the Rajah as he stood gloating over the gaping wounds
and the sufferings of the poor sacrifice, his heavy face lit up by a
ghastly grin of delight.

The horrible spectacle shocked and disgusted the European spectators. Ida
nearly fainted, and Mrs. Rice turned green. Noreen shuddered at
Chunerbutty's fiendish and bestial expression, as he leaned forward in the
howdah, his face working convulsively, his eyes straining to lose no detail
of the repulsive sight. He was enjoying it, like the excited, enthralled
mobs of Indians of all ages around, who pressed forward, gradually pushing
back the line of retainers struggling to keep the ground.

Suddenly the swarming thousands broke loose. They surged madly forward,
engulfing and sweeping the soldiers along with them, and rushed on the
dying bull. They fought savagely to reach it. Those who succeeded threw
themselves on the quivering carcase and with knives or bare hands tore
pieces of still living flesh from it and thrust them into their mouths.
Then, blooded to the eyes, they raised their reddened arms aloft, while
from thousands of throats rang out the fanatical cry:

"_Kali Ma ki jai!_ (Victory to Mother Kali!)"

They surged around the altar. The Rajah was knocked down and nearly
trampled on by the maddened, hysterical crowd. _Dewan_, Ministers,
officials, guards were hustled and swept aside. The cavalry commander saw
his ruler's danger and collecting a dozen of his _sowars_ charged the
religious-mad mob and rescued the Rajah from his dangerous position, riding
down and sabring men, women, and children, the fierce stallions savaging
everyone within reach with their bared teeth.

Chunerbutty, in whom old racial instincts were rekindled, had scarcely been
able to restrain himself from climbing down and joining in the frenzied
rush on the bull. But the turn of events sobered him and induced him to
listen at last to Noreen's entreaties and angry demands from the Englishmen
who bade him order the _mahouts_ to take the visitors away from the
horrible spectacle. As they left they saw the Rajah's golden chariot and
the carriages of the officials being driven helter-skelter across the grass
with their blood-stained and terrified occupants. And the madly fanatical
crowds surged wildly around the altar, while their cries to Kali rent the
air.

The elephants lumbered swiftly in file through the deserted city, for it
was now emptied of its inhabitants. Merchants, traders, shopkeepers,
workers, harlots, and criminals, all had flocked to the _Moti Mahal_ to
witness the sacrifice.

As they entered the Palace gates the _mahout_ of the animal carrying
Barclay, Dermot, and two planters called to a native standing idly in the
courtyard:

"Why wert thou not out with thy elephant, Ebrahim?"

The man addressed, a grey-bearded Mussulman, replied:

"Shiva-_ji_ is bad today. I fear him greatly."

"Is it the madness of the _dhantwallah_?"

"It is the madness."

And the speaker cracked his finger-joints to avert evil luck.

Dinner was not a very jovial meal among the English guests that night. Much
to their relief the Rajah did not come in to them. The ladies retired early
to their rooms, and the men were not long in following their example.

Barclay and Dermot, who were the only occupants of the floor on which their
rooms were situated--it was the top one of the wing--went upstairs
together. At the Deputy Superintendent's door a man squatted and, as they
approached, rose, and saluted them in military fashion. It was Barclay's
police orderly.

"Hast got it?" asked his master in the vernacular.

"I have got it, Sahib. It is here," and the man placed a small covered
basket in his hands.

"_Bahut atcha. Ruksat hai_" (very good. You have leave to go), said his
officer, using the ordinary Indian formula for dismissing a subordinate.

"Salaam, Sahib."

The orderly saluted and went away down the passage.

"Wait a moment, Major; I'm going with you to your room," said the Deputy
Superintendent, opening his door. "Do you mind bringing my light along, as
yours may be gone again. My hands are full with this basket."

When they reached Dermot's apartment they found a lamp burning feebly in
it, smoking, and giving little light.

"Looks as if there's a fresh game on tonight," said Dermot in a low voice.
"This is not the lamp I had before dinner. That was a large and brilliant
one. I'm glad we brought yours along."

"Barricade the door, Major," whispered Barclay. "Are the shutters closed?
Yes; that's all right."

"What have you got in that mysterious basket?" his companion asked.

"You'll see presently."

He set it down on the floor and raised the lid. A small, sharp-muzzled head
with fierce pink eyes popped up and looked about suspiciously. Then its
owner climbed cautiously out on to the floor. It was a slim, long-bodied
little animal like a ferret, with a long, furry tail.

"Hullo! A mongoose? You think they'll try the same trick again?" asked
Dermot.

He glanced at the bed and picked up his cane.

"Just stand still, Major, and watch. If there's anything in the snake line
about our young friend here will attend to it."

The mongoose trotted forward for a few steps, then sat down and scratched
itself. It rose, yawned, stretched its legs, and looked up at the two men,
betraying no fear of them. Then it lifted its sharp nose into the air,
sniffed, and pattered about the room, stopping to smell the legs of the
dressing-table and a cap of Dermot's lying on the floor. It investigated
several rat-holes at the bottom of the walls and approached the bed. Under
it a pair of the soldier's slippers were lying. The mongoose, passing by
them, turned to smell them. Suddenly it sprang back, leaping a couple of
feet into the air. When it touched the floor it crouched with bared teeth,
the hair on its back bristling and its tail fluffed out until it was bigger
than the body of the fierce little animal.

"By Jove, it has found something!" exclaimed Barclay.

The two men leant forward and watched intently. The mongoose approached the
slippers again in a series of bounds, jumped around them, crouched, and
then sprang into the air again.

Suddenly there was a rush and a scurry. The mongoose had pounced on one
slipper and was shaking it savagely, beating it on the floor, rolling over
and over and leaping into the air with it. Its movements were so rapid that
for a few moments the watchers could distinguish nothing in the miniature
cyclone of slipper and ball of fluffy hair inextricably mingled. Then there
was a pause. The mongoose stood still, then backed away with stiffened
legs, its sharp teeth fixed in the neck of a small snake about ten inches
long, which it was trying to drag out of the slipper.

"Good heavens! This is worse than last night," cried Barclay. "It's a
_karait_."

This reptile is almost more poisonous than a cobra, and, as it is thin and
rarely exceeds twelve inches in length, it can hide anywhere and is an even
deadlier menace in a house.

The mongoose backed across the room, dragging the snake and with it the
slipper.

"Why the deuce doesn't it pull the _karait_ out?" said Dermot, bending down
to look more closely, as the mongoose paused. "By George! Look at this,
Barclay. The snake's fastened to the inside of the slipper by a loop and a
bit of thin wire."

"What a devilish trick!" cried Barclay.

"Well, I hope that concludes the entertainment for tonight," said Dermot.
"Enough is as good as a feast."

When next morning the servant brought in his tray, Dermot was smoking a
cigarette in an easy chair, and he fancied that there was a scared
expression in the man's eyes, as the fellow looked covertly at the slippers
on the Major's feet.

CHAPTER XVII

A TRAP

In the forenoon of the fifth day of the Durgá-Puja Festival the _Dewan_ and
Chunerbutty sat on the thick carpet of the Rajah's apartment, which was in
that part of the Palace facing the wing given up to the visitors. It formed
one of the sides of the square surrounding the paved courtyard below, which
was rarely entered. Only one door led into it from the buildings which
lined it on three sides, a door under the Rajah's suite of apartments.

That potentate was sprawling on a pile of soft cushions, glaring
malevolently at his Chief Minister, whom he hated and feared.

"Curses on thee, _Dewan-ji_!" he muttered, turning uneasily and groaning
with the pain of movement. For he was badly bruised, sore, and shaken, from
his treatment by the crowd on the previous day.

"Why on me, O Maharaj?" asked the _Dewan_, looking at him steadily and with
hardly-veiled contempt.

"Because thine was the idea of this foolish celebration yesterday. Mother
Durgá was angry with me for introducing this foreign way of worship,"
answered the superstitious atheist, conveniently forgetting that the idea
was his own. "It will cost me large sums to these greedy priests, if she is
not to punish me further."

"Not for that reason, but for another, is the Holy Mother enraged, O
Maharaj," replied his Minister. "For the lack of a sweeter sacrifice than
we offered her yesterday."

"What is that?" demanded the Rajah suspiciously. He distrusted his _Dewan_
more than any one else in his service.

"Canst thou ask? Thou who bearest on thy forehead the badge of the Sáktas?"

"Thou meanest a human sacrifice?"

"I do."

"I have given Durgá many," grumbled the Rajah. "But if she be greedy, let
her have more. There are girls in my _zenana_ that I would gladly be rid
of."

"The Holy Mother demands a worthier offering than some wanton that thou
hast wearied of."

Chunerbutty spoke for the first time.

"She wants the blood of one of the accursed race; of a _Feringhi_; of this
soldier and spy."

The Rajah shifted uneasily on his cushions. He hated but he feared the
white men, and he had not implicit faith in the _Dewan's_ talk of their
speedy overthrow.

"Mother Durgá has rejected him," he said. "Have ye not all tried to slay
him and failed?"

The _Dewan_ nodded his head slowly and stared at the carpet.

"There is some strange and evil influence that sets my plans at naught."

"The gods, if there be gods as you Brahmins say, protect him. I think evil
will come to us if we harm him. And can we? Did he not lie down with the
hooded death itself, a cobra, young, active, full of venom, and rise
unhurt?"

"True. But perhaps the snake had escaped from the bed before the
_Feringhi_ entered it," said the _Dewan_ meditatively.

"To guard against that, did they not fasten the _karait_ in his shoe?"

"He may have discovered it in time," said the engineer. "Englishmen fear
snakes greatly and always look out for them."

"Ha! and did he not eat and drink the poisoned meal prepared for him by our
skilfullest physician?"

There was no answer to this. The mystery of Dermot's escape from death was
beyond their understanding.

"There is certainly something strange about him," said Chunerbutty. "At
least, so it is reported in our district, though to me he seems a fool. But
there all races and castes fear him. Curious tales are told of him. Some
say that _Gunesh_, the Elephant-headed One, protects him. Others hold that
he is _Gunesh_ himself. Can it be so?"

The _Dewan_ smiled.

"Since when hast thou believed in the gods again?" he asked.

"Well, it is hard to know what is true or false. If there be no gods,
perhaps there are devils. My Christian friends are more impressed by the
latter."

The Rajah shook his head doubtfully.

"Perhaps he is a devil. Who knows? They told me that he summoned a host of
devils in the form of elephants to slay my soldiers. Pah! it is all
nonsense. There are no such things."

With startling distinctness the shrill trumpeting of an elephant rang
through the room.

"Mother Kali preserve me!" shrieked the superstitious Rajah, flinging
himself in terror on his face. "That was no mortal elephant. Was it
_Gunesh_ that spoke?" He lifted his head timidly. "It is a warning. Spare
the _Feringhi_. Let him go."

"Spare him? Knowest thou, O Maharaj, that the girl thou dost desire loves
him? But an hour ago I heard her tell him that she wished to speak with him
alone," said Chunerbutty.

"Alone with him? The shameless one! Curses on him! Let him die," cried the
jealous Rajah, his fright forgotten.

The _Dewan_ smiled.

"There was no need to fear the cry of that elephant," he said. "It was your
favourite, Shiva-_ji_. He is seized with the male-madness. They have penned
him in the stone-walled enclosure yonder. He killed his _mahout_ this
morning."

"Killed Ebrahim? Curse him! If he had not cost me twenty thousand rupees I
would have him shot," growled the Rajah savagely. "Killed Ebrahim, my best
_mahout_? Why could he not have slain this accursed _Feringhi_ if he had
the blood-lust on him?"

"In the name of Siva the Great One!" exclaimed the _Dewan_ piously. "It is
a good thought. Listen to me, Maharaj! Listen, thou renegade" (this to
Chunerbutty, who dared not resent the old man's insults).

The three heads came together.

After lunch that day Dermot sat smoking in his room. Although it had no
punkah and the heat was great, he had escaped to it from the crowded lounge
to be able to think quietly. But his thoughts were not of the attempts on
his life and the probability that they would be repeated. His mind was
filled with Noreen to the temporary exclusion of all other subjects. She
puzzled him. He had supposed her engaged, or practically engaged, to
Charlesworth. Yet she had come away from Darjeeling at its gayest time and
here seemed to be engrossed with Chunerbutty. She was always with him or he
with her. He never left her side. She sat by him at every meal. She had
gone alone with him in his howdah to the _Moti Mahal_, when every other
elephant had carried more than two persons. He knew that she had always
regarded the Hindu as a friend, but he had not thought that she was so
attracted to him. Certainly now she did not appear content away from him.
What would Charlesworth, who hated natives, think of it?

As for himself, their former friendship seemed dead. He had naturally been
hurt when she had not waited in the hotel at Darjeeling, though she knew
that he was coming to say good-bye to her. But perhaps Charlesworth had
kept her out, so he could not blame her. But why had she deliberately
avoided him here in the Palace? What was the reason of her unfriendliness?
Yet that morning in the lounge after breakfast he had chanced to pass her
where she stood beside Chunerbutty, who was speaking to a servant. She had
detained him for a moment to tell him that she wished to see him alone some
time, for she wanted his advice. She seemed rather mysterious about it, and
he remembered that she had spoken in a low tone, as if she did not desire
any one else to hear what she was saying.

What did it all mean? Well, if he could help her with advice or anything
else he would. He had not realised how fond he was of her until this
estrangement between them had arisen.

As he sat puzzling over the problem the servant who waited on him entered
the room and salaamed.

"_Ghurrib Parwar!_ (Protector of the Poor.) I bring a message for Your
Honour. The English missie _baba_ sends salaams and wishes to speak with
you."

Dermot sprang up hastily.

"Where is she, Rama? In the lounge?"

"No, _Huzoor_. The missie _baba_ is in the Red Garden."

"Where is that?"

"It is the Rajah's own private garden, through there." The servant pointed
down to the gateway in the high wall of the courtyard below. He had opened
the shutter of the window by which they were standing. "I will guide Your
Honour. We must go through that door over there under His Highness's
apartments."

"_Bahut atcha_, Rama. I will come with you. Give me my _topi_," cried
Dermot, feeling light-hearted all at once. Perhaps the misunderstanding
between Noreen and him would be cleared up now. He took his sun-hat from
the man and followed him out of the room.

Noreen was greatly perplexed about the insult, as she considered it, of the
Rajah's offer of the necklace. She feared to tell her brother, who might be
angry with her for suspecting his friend of condoning an impertinence to
her. Equally she felt that she could not confide in Ida or any one else,
lest she should be misjudged and thought to have encouraged the engineer
and his patron. To whom could she turn, sure of not being misunderstood? If
only Dermot had remained her friend!

She was torn with longings to know the truth about his relations with Ida.
The uncertainty was unbearable. That morning in her room she had boldly
attacked Ida and asked her frankly. The other woman made light of the whole
affair, pretended that Noreen had misunderstood her on that night in
Darjeeling, and laughed at the idea of any one imagining that she had ever
been in love with Dermot.

The girl was more puzzled than ever. Her heart ached for an hour or two
alone with her one-time friend of the forest. O to be out with him on
Badshah in the silent jungle, no matter what dangers encircled them!
Perhaps there the cloud between them would vanish. But could she not speak
to him here in the Palace? He seemed to be no longer fascinated with Ida,
if indeed he ever had been. She could tell him of the Rajah's insult. He
would advise her what to do, for she was sure that he would not misjudge
her. And perhaps--who knew?--her confiding in him might break down the wall
that separated them. She forgot that it had been built by her own
resentment and anger, and that she had eluded his attempts to approach her.
Even now she felt that she could not speak to him before others.

Growing desperate, she had that morning snatched at the opportunity to ask
him for an interview. Chunerbutty, who seemed always to cling to her now
with the persistence of a leech, had as usual been with her, but his
attention had been distracted from her for a moment. She hoped that the
Hindu had not overheard her. Yet what did it matter if he had? Dermot had
understood and nodded, as he passed on with the old, friendly look in his
eyes. Perhaps all would come right.

She had seen him leave the lounge after lunch, but she remained there
confident that he would return. She felt she could not talk to the others
so she withdrew to a table near one of the shuttered windows and pretended
to read the newspapers on it.

Payne was there, deep in the perusal of an article in an English journal on
the disturbed state of India. Mrs. Rice, impervious to snubs, was trying to
impress the openly bored Ida with accounts of the gay and fashionable life
of Balham. The men were scattered about the room in groups, some discussing
in low tones the occurrences of the day before at the _Moti Mahal_, others
talking of the illuminations and fireworks which were to wind up their
entertainment in Lalpuri on this the last night of their stay. For all were
leaving on the morrow.

Suddenly there was a wild outcry outside. Loud cries, the shouts of men,
the terrifying trumpeting of an elephant, resounded through the courtyard
below and echoed weirdly from the walls of the buildings. A piercing shriek
of agony rang high above the tumult of sound and chilled the blood of the
listeners in the lounge.

Payne tore fiercely at the stiff wooden shutters of the window near him,
which led out to the long balcony. Suddenly they burst open and he sprang
out.

"Good God!" he cried in horror. "Look! Look! Dermot's done for!"

The soldier had followed Rama, who led him through an unfamiliar part of
the Palace along low passages, down narrow winding staircases, through
painted rooms, in some of which female garments flung carelessly on the
cushions seemed to indicate that they were passing through a portion of the
_zenana_. Finally they reached a marble-paved hall on the ground-floor,
where two attendants, the first persons whom they had seen on their way,
lounged near a small door. They were evidently the porters and appeared to
expect them, for they opened the door at Rama's approach. Through it Dermot
followed his guide out into the courtyard on which he had often looked from
the balcony of his room. He looked up at the lounge, two stories above his
head, its long casements shuttered against the heat. Then he noticed that
in none of the buildings surrounding the court were there any windows lower
than the second story, and the only entrance into it from the Palace was
the small door through which he had just passed. Almost at the moment he
stepped into the courtyard a familiar sound greeted his ears. It was the
trumpeting of an elephant. But there was a strange note of rage and
excitement in it, and he thought of the remarks of the _mahouts_ the
previous day on the return from the _Moti Mahal_. Probably the _must_
elephant of which they spoke was chained somewhere close by.

As he crossed the courtyard he chanced to glance up at the shuttered
windows of the apartments which he had been told were occupied by the
Rajah. At that moment one of them was opened and a white cloth waved from
it by an unseen hand. He wondered was it a signal. He stooped to fasten a
bootlace, and Rama, who was making for the gateway in the high wall forming
the fourth side of the courtyard, called impatiently to him to hasten. The
servant's tone was impertinent, and Dermot looked up in surprise.

Then suddenly Hell broke loose. From the direction in which they were
proceeding came fierce shouts of men, yells of terror, and the angry
trumpeting of an elephant mingled with the groaning of iron dragged over
stone and the crashing of splintered wood. Rama, who was a few yards ahead,
turned and ran past the white man, his face livid. Dermot looked after him
in surprise. The man had dashed back to the little door and was beating on
it madly with his fists. It was opened to admit him and then hastily
closed. The soldier heard the rusty bolts grinding home in their sockets.

Scenting danger and fearing a trap he stood still in the middle of the
courtyard.

The uproar continued and drew nearer. Suddenly it was dominated by a
blood-curdling shriek of agony. Through the wide gateway he saw five or
six men fleeing across the farther courtyard, which was surrounded by a
high wall. Behind them rushed a huge tusker elephant, ears and tail
cocked, eyes aflame with rage. He overtook one man, struck him down with
his trunk, trod him to pulp, and then pursued the others. Some of them,
crazed with terror, tried to climb the walls. The savage brute struck
them down one after another, gored them or trampled them to death.

Three terrified wretches fled through the gateway into the courtyard in
which Dermot was standing. One stumbled and the elephant caught him up. The
demented man turned on it and tried to beat it off with his bare hands.
With a scream of fury the maddened beast drove his blood-stained tusk into
the wretch's body, pitched him aloft, then hurled him to the ground and
gored him again and again. The dying shriek that burst from the labouring
lungs turned Dermot's blood cold. The body was kicked, trampled on, and
then torn limb from limb.

The two other men had dashed wildly across the courtyard. One reached the
small door and was beating madly on it with bleeding knuckles, but it
remained implacably closed. The other, driven mad by fear, was running
round and round the courtyard like a caged animal, stopping occasionally to
raise imploring hands and eyes to the windows of the Palace, which were now
filled with spectators. Even the roofs were crowded with natives looking
down on the tragedy being enacted below.

Dermot realised that he had been trapped. There was no escape. He looked up
at the Rajah's windows. One had been pushed open, and he thought that he
could see the _Dewan_ and his master watching him. He determined that he
would not afford them the gratification of seeing him run round and round
the walls of the courtyard like a rat in a trap until death overtook him.
So, when the elephant at last drew off from its victim and stood irresolute
for a moment, he turned to face it.

It seemed to him that he heard his voice called, faintly and from far away,
but all his faculties were intent on watching the death that approached him
in such hideous guise. Dermot's thoughts flew to Badshah for a moment, but
swung back to centre on the coming annihilation. With flaming eyes, trunk
curled, and head thrown up, the elephant charged.

For one brief instant the man felt an insane desire to flee but, mastering
it, he faced the on-rushing brute. A minute more, and all would be over.
The soldier was unconscious of the shouts that rent the air, of the
spectators crowding the balconies and windows. He felt perfectly cool now
and had but one regret--that he had not been able to see Noreen again, as
she had wished, before he died.

He drew a deep breath, his last perhaps before Death reached him, and took
a step forward to meet his doom.

But at his movement a miracle happened. Not five yards from him the
charging elephant suddenly tried to check its rush, flung all its weight
back and, unable to halt, slid forward with stiffened fore-legs over the
paving-stones. When at last it stopped one tusk was actually touching the
man. Tail, ears, and trunk drooped, and it backed with every evidence of
terror. Some instinct had warned it at the last moment that this man was
sacred to the mammoth tribe.

Like a flash enlightenment came to Dermot. Once again a mysterious power
had saved him. The elephant knew and feared him. Yet he seemed as one in a
dream. He looked up at the native portion of the Palace and became aware of
the spectators on the roofs, the staring faces at the windows, the eyes of
the women peering at him through the latticed casements of the _zenana_.
The Rajah and the _Dewan_, all caution forgotten in their excitement, had
thrown open the shutters from behind which they had hoped to witness his
death, and were leaning out in full view.

Dermot laughed grimly, and the thought came to him to impress these
treacherous foes more forcibly. He walked towards the shrinking elephant,
raised his hand, and commanded it to kneel. The animal obeyed submissively.
The soldier swung himself on to its neck, and the animal rose to its feet
again.

He guided it across the courtyard until it stood under the window from
which the Rajah and the _Dewan_ stared down at him in amazement and
superstitious dread. Then he said to the animal:

"_Salaam kuro!_ (Salute!)"

It raised its trunk and trumpeted in the royal salutation. With a mocking
smile, Dermot lifted his hat to the shrinking pair of murderers and turned
the elephant away.

Then for the first time he became aware that the balcony of the lounge was
crowded with his fellow-countrymen. Ida and Mrs. Rice were sobbing
hysterically on each other's shoulders. Noreen, clinging to her brother,
whose arm was about her, was staring down at him with a set, white face.
And as he looked up and saw them the men went mad. They burst into a roar
of cheering, of greeting, and applause that drove the Rajah and his
Minister into hiding again, for the shouts had something of menace in them.

Dermot took off his hat in acknowledgment of the cheers and, seeing the
Hindu engineer shrinking behind the others with an expression of amazed
terror on his face, called to him:

"Would you kindly send one of your friends to open the door, Mr.
Chunerbutty? It seems to have got shut by some unfortunate accident."

He brought the elephant to its knees and dismounted. Then as it rose he
pointed to the gateway and said in the _mahout's_ tongue:

"Return to your stall."

The animal walked away submissively. The two surviving natives shrank
against the buildings in deadly fear, but the animal disappeared quietly.

Dermot went to the door and waited. Soon he heard the key turned in the
lock and the rusty bolts drawn back. The door was then flung open by one of
the porters, while the others huddled against the wall, for Barclay stood
in front of them with a pistol raised. He sprang forward and seized
Dermot's hand.

"Heaven and earth! How are you alive?" he cried. "I thought the devils had
got you this time. I was tempted to shoot these swine here for being so
long in opening the door."

There was a clatter of boots on the marble floor, as Payne and Granger,
followed by the rest of the Englishmen, ran up the hall, cheering. They
crowded round Dermot, nearly shook his arm off, thumped him on the back,
and overwhelmed him with congratulations.

As Dermot thanked them he said:

"I didn't know that you fellows were looking on, otherwise I wouldn't have
done that little bit of gallery-play. But I had a reason for it." "Yes; we
know," said Payne significantly. "Barclay told us."

Then they dragged him protesting upstairs to the lounge, that the women
might congratulate him too; which they did each in her own fashion. Ida was
effusive and sentimental, Mrs. Rice fatuous, and Noreen timid and almost
stiff. The girl, who had endured an agony worse than many deaths, could not
voice her feelings, and her congratulations seemed curt and cold to others
besides Dermot.

She had no opportunity of speaking to him apart, even for a minute, for the
men surrounded him and insisted on toasting him and questioning him until
it was time to dress for dinner. And even then they formed a guard of
honour and escorted him to his room.

Noreen, utterly worn out by her sleepless nights and the storm of emotions
that had shaken her, was unable to come down to dinner, and at her
brother's wish went to bed instead. And so she did not learn that Dermot
was leaving the Palace at the early hour of four o'clock in the morning.

That night as Dermot and Barclay went upstairs together the police officer
said:

"I wonder if they'll dare to try anything against you tonight, Major. I
should say they'd give you a miss in baulk, for they must believe you
invulnerable. Still, I'm going with you to your room to see."

When they reached it and threw open the door a figure half rose from the
floor. Barclay's hand went out to it with levelled pistol, but the words
arrested him.

"_Khodawund!_ (Lord of the World!) Forgive me! I did not know. I did not
know."

It was the treacherous Rama who had tried to lead Dermot to his death. He
lay face to the ground.

"Damned liar!" growled Barclay in English.

"Did not know that thou wert leading me under the feet of the _must_
elephant?" demanded Dermot incredulously.

"Aye, that I knew of course, _Huzoor_. How can I deceive thee? But thee I
knew not; though the elephant Shiva-_ji_ did, even in his madness. It is
not my fault. I am not of this country. I am a man of the Punjaub. I know
naught of the gods of Bengal."

Barclay had heard from the planters the belief in Dermot's divinity which
was universal in their district, and perceived that the legend had reached
this man. He was quick to see the advantages that they could reap from his
superstitious fears. He signed to Dermot to be silent and said in solemn
tones:

"Rama, thou hast grievously offended the gods. Thou knowest the truth at
last?"

"I do, Sahib. The talk through the Palace, aye, throughout the city, is all
of the God of the Elephants, of the Terrible One who feeds his herd of
demons on the flesh of men. The temple of _Gunesh_ will be full indeed
tonight. But alas! I am an ignorant man. I knew not that the holy one took
form among the _gora-logue_ (white folk)."

"The gods know no country. The truth, Rama, the truth," said Barclay
impressively. "Else thou art lost. Shiva-_ji_, mayhap, is hungry and needs
his meal of flesh."

"Ai! sahib, say not so," wailed the terror-stricken man. "He has feasted
well today. With my own eyes I saw him feed on Man Singh the Rajput."

Natives believe that an elephant, when it seizes in its mouth the limbs
of a man that it has killed and is about to tear in pieces, eats his
flesh. In dread of a like doom, of the terrible vengeance of this
mysterious Being, god, man, or demon, perhaps all three, from whom
death shrank aside, whom neither poison of food nor venom of snake could
harm, who used mad, man-slaying elephants as steeds, Rama unburdened his
soul. He told how the _Dewan's_ confidential man had bade him carry out
the attempts on Dermot's life. He showed them that the Major's
suspicions when he saw the Rajah's soldiery were correct, and that from
Lalpuri came the inspiration of the carrying-off of Noreen. He told them
of a party of these same soldiers that had gone on a secret mission into
the Great Jungle, from which but a few came back after awful sufferings,
and the strange tales whispered in the bazaar as to the fate of their
comrades.

He disclosed more. He spoke of mysterious travellers from many lands that
came to the Palace to confer with the _Dewan_--Chinese, Afghans, Bhutanese,
Indians of many castes and races, white men not of the sahib-_logue_. He
said enough to convince his hearers that many threads of the world-wide
conspiracy against the British Raj led to Lalpuri. There was not proof
enough yet for the Government of India to take action against its rulers,
perhaps, but sufficient to show where the arch-conspirators of Bengal were
to be sought for.

Rama left the room, not pardoned indeed, but with the promise of punishment
suspended as long as he was true to the oath he had sworn by the Blessed
Water of the Ganges, to be true slave and bearer of news when Dermot needed
him.

Long after he left, the two sat and talked of the strange happenings of the
last few days, and disclosed to each other what they knew of the treason
that stalked the land, for each was servant of the Crown and his knowledge
might help the other. And when the hoot of Payne's motor-horn in the outer
courtyard told them that it was time for Dermot to go, they said good-bye
in the outwardly careless fashion of the Briton who has looked into
another's eyes and found him true man and friend.

Then through the darkness into the dawn Dermot sped away with his
companions from the City of Shame and the Palace of Death.

And Noreen woke later to learn that the man she loved had left her again
without farewell, that the fog of misunderstanding between them was not yet
lifted.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CAT AND THE TIGER

Several weeks had passed since the Durgá Puja Festival. Over the Indian
Empire the dark clouds were gathering fast. The Pathan tribes along the
North-west Frontier were straining at the leash; Afridis, Yusufzais,
Mohmands, all the _Pukhtana_, were restless and excited. The _mullahs_ were
preaching a holy war; and the _maliks_, or tribal elders, could not
restrain their young men. Raids into British Indian territory were
frequent.

There was worse menace behind. The Afghan troops, organised, trained, and
equipped as they had never been before in their history, were massing near
the Khyber Pass. Some of the Penlops, the great feudal chieftains of
little-known Bhutan, were rumoured to have broken out into rebellion
against the Maharajah because, loyal to his treaties with the Government of
India, he had refused a Chinese army free passage through the country. All
the masterless Bhuttia rogues on both sides of the border were sharpening
their _dahs_ and looking down greedily on the fertile plains below.

All India itself seemed trembling on the verge of revolt. The Punjaub was
honeycombed with sedition. Men said that the warlike castes and races that
had helped Britain to hold the land in the Black Year of the Mutiny would
be the first to tear it from her now. In the Bengals outrages and open
disloyalty were the order of the day. The curs that had fattened under
England's protection were the first to snap at her heels. The Day of Doom
seemed very near. Only the great feudatories of the King-Emperor, the noble
Princes of India, faithful to their oaths, were loyal.

Through the borderland of Bhutan Dermot and Badshah still ranged, watching
the many gates through the walls of mountains better than battalions of
spies. The man rarely slept in a bed. His nights were passed beside his
faithful friend high up in the Himalayan passes, where the snow was already
falling, or down in the jungles still reeking of fever and sweltering in
tropic heat. By his instructions Parker and his two hundred sepoys toiled
to improve the defences of Ranga Duar; and the subaltern was happy in the
possession of several machine guns wrung from the Ordnance Department with
difficulty.

Often, as Dermot sat high perched on the mountain side, searching the
narrow valleys and deep ravines of Bhutan with powerful glasses, his
thoughts flew to Noreen safe beyond the giant hills at his back. It cheered
him to know that he was watching over her safety as well as guarding the
peace of hundreds of millions in the same land. He had seldom seen her
since their return from Lalpuri, and on the rare occasions of their meeting
she seemed to avoid him more than ever. Chunerbutty was always by her side.
Could there be truth, then, in this fresh story that Ida Smith had told him
on their last night at the Palace, when she said that she had discovered
that she was mistaken in believing in Noreen's approaching betrothal to
Charlesworth, of which she had assured him in Darjeeling? For at Lalpuri
she said she had extracted from the girl the confession that she had
refused the Rifleman and others for love of someone in the Plains below.
And Ida, judging from Chunerbutty's constant attendance on, and
proprietorial manner with Noreen, confided to Dermot her firm belief that
the Bengali was the man.

The thought was unbearable to the soldier. As he sat in his lonely eyrie he
knew now that he loved the girl, that it would be unbearable for him to see
her another's wife. Those few days at Lalpuri, when first he felt the
estrangement between them, had revealed the truth to him. When in the
courtyard of the Palace he saw Death rushing on him he had given her what
he believed would be his last thought.

He recalled her charm, her delightful comradeship, her brightness, and her
beauty. It was hateful to think that she would dower this renegade Hindu
with them all. Dermot had no unjust prejudice against the natives of the
land in which so much of his life was passed. Like every officer in the
Indian Army he loved his sepoys and regarded them as his children. Their
troubles, their welfare, were his. He respected the men of those gallant
warrior races that once had faced the British valiantly in battle and
fought as loyally beside them since. But for the effeminate and cowardly
peoples of India, that ever crawled to kiss the feet of each conqueror of
the peninsula in turn and then stabbed him in the back if they could, he
had the contempt that every member of the martial races of the land, every
Sikh, Rajput, Gurkha, Punjaubi had.

The girl would scarcely have refused so good a match as Charlesworth or
come away heart-whole from Darjeeling, where so many had striven for her
favour, if she had gone there without a prior attachment. That she cared
for no man in England he was sure, for she had often told him that she had
no desire to return to that country. He had seen her among the planters of
the district and was certain that she loved none of them. Only Chunerbutty
was left; it must indeed be he.

He shut up his binoculars and climbed down the rocky pinnacle on which he
had been perched, and went to eat a cheerless meal where Badshah grazed a
thousand feet below.

In Malpura Noreen was suffering bitterly for her foolish pride and jealous
readiness to believe evil of the man she loved. She knew that she was
entirely to blame for her estrangement from him. He never came to their
garden now; and to her dismay her brother ignored all hints to invite him.
For the boy was divided between loyalty to Chunerbutty (whom he had to
thank for his chance in life) and the man who had twice saved his sister.
Chunerbutty had reproached him with forgetting what he, the now despised
Hindu, had done for him in the past, and complained sadly that Miss Daleham
looked down on him for the colour of his skin. So Fred felt that he must
choose between two friends and that honour demanded his clinging to the
older one. Therefore he begged Noreen for his sake not to hurt the
engineer's feelings and to treat him kindly. She could not refuse, and
Chunerbutty took every advantage of her sisterly obedience. Whenever they
went to the club he tried to monopolise her, and delighted in exhibiting
the terms of friendship on which they appeared to be. The girl felt that
even her old friends were beginning at last to look askance at her;
consequently she tried to avoid going to the weekly gatherings.

It happened that on the occasion when Dermot, having arrived at Salchini on
a visit to Payne, again made his appearance at the club, Daleham had
insisted on his sister accompanying him there, much against her will.
Chunerbutty was unable to go with them, being confined to his bungalow with
a slight touch of fever.

That afternoon Noreen was more than ever conscious of a strained feeling
and an unmistakable coldness to her on the part of the men whom she knew
best. And worse, it seemed to her that some young fellows who had only
recently come to the district and with whom she was little acquainted, were
inclined to treat her with less respect than usual. She had seen Dermot
arrive with his host; but, although Payne came to sit down beside her and
chat, his guest merely greeted her courteously and passed on at once.

All that afternoon it seemed to the girl that something in the atmosphere
was miserably wrong, but what it was she could not tell. She was bitterly
disappointed that Dermot kept away from her. It was not the smart of a hurt
pride, but the bewildered pain of a child that finds that the one it values
most does not need it. Indeed her best friends, all except Payne, seemed to
have agreed to ignore her.

Mrs. Rice, however, was even sweeter in her manner than usual when she
spoke to the girl.

"Where is Mr. Chunerbutty today, dear?" she asked after lunch from where
she sat on the verandah beside Dermot. Noreen was standing further along it
with Payne, watching the play on the tennis-court in front of the club
house.

"He isn't very well," replied the girl. "He's suffering from fever."

"Oh, really? I am so sorry to hear that," exclaimed the older woman. "So
sad for you, dear. However did you force yourself to leave him?"

Noreen looked at her in surprise.

"Why not? We could do nothing for him," she said. "We sent him soup and
jelly made by our cook, and Fred went to see him before we started. But he
didn't want to be disturbed."

Mrs. Rice's manner grew even more sweetly sympathetic.

"I _am_ so sorry," she said. "How worried you must be!"

The girl stared at her in astonishment. She had never expected to find Mrs.
Rice seriously concerned about any one, and least of all the Hindu, who was
no favourite of hers.

"Oh, there's really nothing to worry about," she exclaimed impatiently.
"Fred said he hadn't much of a temperature."

"Yes, I daresay. But you can't help being anxious, I know. I wonder that
you were able to bring yourself to come here at all, dear," said the older
woman in honeyed tones.

"But why shouldn't I?"

Noreen's eyebrows were raised in bewilderment. She felt instinctively that
there was some hidden unfriendliness at the back of Mrs. Rice's sympathetic
words. She felt that Dermot was watching her.

"Oh, forgive me, dear. I am afraid I'm being indiscreet. I forgot," said
the other woman. She rose from her chair and turned to the man beside her.

"Major, do take me out to see how the coolies are getting on with the polo
ground. I hope when it's finished you'll come here to play regularly. These
boys want someone to show them the game. You military men are the only ones
who know how it should be played."

She put up her green-lined white sun-umbrella and led the way down the
verandah steps. With a puckered brow Noreen watched her and her companion
until they were out of sight round the corner of the little wooden
building.

"What does Mrs. Rice mean?" she demanded. "I'm sure there's something
behind her words. She never pretended to like Mr. Chunerbutty. Why should
she be concerned about him now? Why does she seem to expect me to stay
behind to nurse him? Of course I would, if he were dangerously ill. But
he's not."

Payne glanced around. Some of the men, who were sitting near, had heard the
conversation with Mrs. Rice, and Noreen felt that there was something
hostile in the way in which they looked at her.

Payne answered in a careless tone:

"Let's sit down. There are a couple of chairs. We'll bag them."

He pointed to two at the far end of the verandah and led the way to them.

When they were seated he said:

"Haven't you any idea of what she means, Miss Daleham?"

The girl stared at him anxiously.

"Then she does mean something, and you know it. Mr. Payne, you have always
been good to me. Won't you help me? Everyone seems to have grown suddenly
very unfriendly."

The grey-haired man looked pityingly at her.

"Will you be honest with me, child?" he asked. "Are you engaged to
Chunerbutty?"

"Engaged? What--to marry him? Good gracious, no!" exclaimed the astonished
girl, half rising from her chair.

"Will you tell me frankly--have you any intention of marrying him?" he
persisted.

Noreen stared at him, her cheeks flaming.

"Marry Mr. Chunerbutty? Of course not. How could you think so! Why, he's
not even a white man."

"Thank God!" Payne exclaimed fervently. "I'm delighted to hear it. I
couldn't believe it--yet one never knows."

"But what on earth put such a preposterous idea into your head, Mr. Payne?"
asked Noreen. "And what has this got to do with Mrs. Rice?"

"Because Mrs. Rice said that you were engaged to Chunerbutty."

For a moment Noreen could find no words. Then she leaned forward, her eyes
flashing.

"Oh, how could she--how could she think so?"

"Perhaps she didn't. But she wanted us to. She said that you had told her
you were engaged to him, but wanted it kept secret for the present. So
naturally she told everyone."

"Told everyone that I was going to marry a native? Oh, how cruel of her!
How could she be so wicked!" exclaimed the girl, much distressed. Then she
added: "Did _you_ believe it?"

Payne shook his head.

"Candidly, child, I didn't know what to think. I hoped it wasn't true. But
of late that damned Bengali seemed so intimate with you. He apparently
wanted everyone to see on what very friendly terms you and he were."

"Did Major Dermot believe it too?"

"I don't know," said Payne doubtfully. "Dermot's not the fellow to talk
about women. He's never mentioned you."

"But how do you know that Mrs. Rice said such a thing? Did she tell you?"

"No; she knows that I am your friend, and I daresay she was afraid to tell
me such a lie. But she told others."

He turned in his chair and called to a young fellow standing near the bar
of the club.

"I say, Travers, do you mind coming here a moment? Pull up a chair and sit
down."

Travers was a straight, clean-minded boy, one of those of their community
whom Noreen liked best, and she had felt hurt at his marked avoidance of
her all the afternoon.

"Look here, youngster," said Payne in a low voice, "did Mrs. Rice tell you
that Miss Daleham was engaged to Chunerbutty?"

Travers looked at him in surprise.

"Yes. I told you so the other day. She said that Miss Daleham had confided
to her that they were engaged, but wanted it kept secret for a time until
he could get another job."

"Then, my boy, you'll be pleased to hear it's a damned lie," said Payne
impressively. "Miss Daleham would never marry a black man."

The boy's face lit up.

"I am glad!" he cried impulsively. "I'm very, very sorry, Miss Daleham, for
helping to spread the lie. But I only told Payne. I knew he was a friend of
yours, and I hoped he'd be able to contradict the yarn. For I felt very
sick about it."

"Thank you, Mr. Travers," the girl said gratefully. "But I'm glad that you
did tell him. Otherwise I might not have heard it, at least not from a
friend."

Just then the four men on the tennis-court finished their game and came in
to the bar. Fred Daleham and another took their places and began a single.
Mrs. Rice, with Dermot and several other men, came up the steps of the
verandah, and, sitting down, ordered tea for the party.

Noreen looked at her with angry eyes, and, rising, walked along the
verandah to where she was sitting surrounded by the group of men.

Her enemy looked up as she approached.

"Are you coming to have tea, dear?" she said sweetly. "I haven't ordered
any for you, but I daresay they'll find you a cup."

Dermot rose to offer the girl his chair; but, ignoring him, she confronted
the other woman.

"Mrs. Rice, will you please tell me if it is true that you said I was
engaged to Mr. Chunerbutty?" she demanded in a firm tone.

It was as if a bomb had exploded in the club. Noreen's voice carried
clearly through the building, so that everyone inside it heard her words
distinctly. The only two members of their little community who missed them
were her brother and his opponent on the tennis-court.

Mrs. Rice gasped and stared at the indignant girl, while the men about her
sat up suddenly in their chairs.

"I said so? What an idea!" ejaculated the planter's wife. Then in an
insinuating voice she added: "You know I never betray secrets."

"There is no secret. Please answer me. Did you say to any one that I had
told you I was engaged to him?" persisted the girl.

The older woman tried to crush her by a haughty assumption of superiority.

"You absurd child, you must be careful what accusations you bring. You
shouldn't say such things."

"Kindly answer my question," demanded the angry girl.

Mrs. Rice lay back in her chair with affected carelessness.

"Well, aren't you engaged to him? Won't even he--?" she broke off and
sniggered impertinently.

"I am not. Most certainly not," said Noreen hotly. "I insist on your
answering me. Did you say that I had told you we were and asked you to keep
it a secret?"

"No, I did not. Who did I tell?" snapped the other woman.

"Me for one," broke in a voice; and Dermot took a step forward. "You
told me very clearly and precisely, Mrs. Rice, that Miss Daleham had
confided to you under the pledge of secrecy--which, by the way, you were
breaking--that she was engaged to this man."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Noreen glanced gratefully at her
champion. The other men shifted uneasily, and Mrs. Rice's husband, who was
standing at the bar, hastily hid his face in a whiskey and soda.

Noreen turned again to her traducer.

"Will you kindly contradict your false statement?" she asked.

The other woman looked down sullenly and made no reply.

"Then I shall," continued the girl. She faced the group of men before her,
Payne and Travers by her side.

"I ask you to believe, gentlemen, that there never was nor could be any
question of an engagement between Mr. Chunerbutty and me," she said firmly.
"And I give you my word of honour that I never said such a thing to Mrs.
Rice."

She waited for a moment, then turned and walked away down the verandah,
followed by Payne and Travers, leaving a pained silence behind her. Mrs.
Rice tried to regain her self-confidence.

"The idea of that chit talking to me like that!" she exclaimed. "It was
only meant for a joke, if I did say it. Who'd have ever thought she'd have
taken it that way?"

"Any decent man--or woman, Mrs. Rice," said Dermot severely. Then, after
looking at Rice to see if he wished to take up the cudgels on his wife's
behalf, and failing to catch that gentleman's carefully-averted eye, the
soldier turned and walked deliberately to where Noreen was sitting, now
suffering from the reaction from her anger and frightened at the memory of
her boldness.

The other men got up one by one and went to the bar, from which the hen
pecked Rice was peremptorily called by his angry wife and ordered to drive
her home.

After the Dalehams had returned to their bungalow the girl told her brother
of what had happened at the club. He was exceedingly angry and agreed that
it would be wiser for her to keep Chunerbutty at a distance in future. And
later on he had no objection to her inviting Dermot to pay them a flying
visit when he was again in their neighbourhood. For the incident at the
club had brought about a resumption of the old friendly relations between
Noreen and Dermot, who occasionally invited her to accompany him on Badshah
for a short excursion into the forest, much to her delight. She confided to
him the offer of the necklace and learned in return his belief that the
Rajah was the instigator of the attempt to carry her off. When her brother
heard of this and of Chunerbutty's action in the matter of the jewels he
was so enraged that he quarrelled for the first time with his Hindu friend.

Dermot was kept informed of whatever happened in Lalpuri by the repentant
Rama through the medium of Barclay. For the Deputy Superintendent had been
appointed to a special and important post in the Secret Police and told off
to watch the conspiracy in Bengal. This he owed to a strong recommendation
from Dermot to the Head of the Department in Simla. Rama proved invaluable.
Through him they learned of the despatch of an important Brahmin messenger
and intermediary from the Palace to Bhutan, by way of Malpura, where he was
to visit some of his caste-fellows on Parry's garden. The information
reached Dermot too late to enable him to seize the man on the tea-estate.
So he hurried to the border to intercept the messenger before he crossed
it. But here, too, he was unsuccessful. Certain that the Brahmin had not
slipped through the meshes of the net formed by his secret service of
subsidised Bhuttias, Dermot returned to the jungle to make search for him
along the way. But all to no avail, much to his chagrin; for he had reason
to hope that he would find on the emissary proof enough of the treason of
the rulers of Lalpuri to hang them. He went back to Malpura to prosecute
enquiries.

To console himself for his disappointment Dermot determined to have a day's
shooting in the jungle, a treat he rarely had leisure for now. He invited
the Dalehams to accompany him. Noreen accepted eagerly, but her brother was
obliged to decline, much to his regret. For Parry was now always in a state
bordering on lunacy, and his brutal treatment of the coolies, when his
assistant was not there to restrain him, several times nearly drove them
into open revolt. So Dermot and his companion set off alone.

As they went along they chanced to pass near a little village buried in the
heart of the jungle. A man working on the small patch of cleared soil in
which he and his fellows grew their scanty crops saw them, recognised
Badshah and his male rider, and ran away shouting to the hamlet. Then out
of it swarmed men, women, and children, the last naked, while only
miserable rags clothed the skinny frames of their elders. All prostrated
themselves in the dust in Badshah's path. The elephant stopped. Then a
wizened old man with scanty white beard raised his hands imploringly to
Dermot.

"Lord! Holy One! Have mercy on us!"

The rest chorused: "Have mercy!"

"Spare thy slaves, O Lord!" went on the old man. "Spare us ere all perish.
We worship at thy shrine. We grudge not thy elephants our miserable crops.
Are they not thy servants? But let not the Striped Death slay all of us."

Dermot questioned him and then explained to Noreen that a man-eating tiger
had taken up its residence near the village and was rapidly killing off its
inhabitants.

"Oh, do help them," she said. "Can't you shoot it?"

He reflected for a few moments.

"Yes, I think I know how to get it. Will you wait for me in the village?"

"What? Mayn't I go with you to see you kill it? Please let me. I promise
I'll not scream or be stupid."

He looked at her admiringly.

"Bravo!" he said. "I'm sure you'll be all right. Very well. I promise you
you shall see a sight that not many other women have seen."

He borrowed a _puggri_--a strip of cotton cloth several yards long--from a
villager, and bade them show him where the tiger lay up during the heat of
the day. When they had done so from a safe distance, he turned Badshah,
and, to Noreen's surprise, sped off swiftly in the opposite direction.

Suddenly the girl touched his arm quietly.

"Look! I see a wild elephant. There's another! And another!" she whispered.

"Yes; I've come in search of them," he replied in his ordinary tone. "It's
Badshah's herd."

"Is it really? How wonderful! How did you know where to find them?" she
cried, thrilled by the sight of the great beasts all round them and
exclaiming with delight at the solemn little woolly babies, many newly
born. For this was the calving season.

Dermot uttered a peculiar cry that sent the cow-elephants huddling
together, their young hiding under their bodies, while from every
quarter the great tuskers broke out through the undergrowth and came to
him in a mass. Then, as Badshah turned and set off at a rapid pace, the
bull-elephants followed.

When he arrived near the spot in which the man-eater was said to have his
lair, Dermot stopped them all. Despite her protests he tied Noreen firmly
with the _puggri_ to the rope crossing Badshah's pad. Then he drove his
animal into the herd of tuskers, which had crowded together, and divided
them into two bodies. The tiger was reported to lie up in a narrow _nullah_
filled and fringed with low bushes. From the near bank to where Badshah
stood the forest was free from undergrowth, which came to within a score of
yards of the far bank.

Badshah smelled the ground, and the other elephants followed his example
and, when they scented the tiger's trail, began to be restless and excited.
A sharp cry from Dermot and the two bodies of tuskers separated and moved
away, branching off half right and left, and disappeared in the
undergrowth.

Dermot cocked his double-barrelled rifle. There was a long pause. A strange
feeling of awe crept over Noreen at the realisation of her companion's
strange power over these great animals. No wonder the superstitious natives
believed him to be a god.

Presently there was a loud crashing in the undergrowth beyond the _nullah_,
and Noreen saw the saplings in it agitated, as if by the passage of the
elephants. The tiger gave no sign of life. The girl's heart beat fast, and
her breath came quickly. But her companion never moved.

Suddenly Noreen gasped, for through the screen of thin bushes that fringed
the edge of the _nullah_ a hideous painted mask was thrust out. It was a
tiger's face, the ears flattened to the skull, the eyes flaming, the lips
drawn back to bare the teeth in a ghastly snarl. The brute saw Badshah and
drew quietly back. A pause. Then it sprang into full view and poised for a
single instant on the far bank. But at that very moment the line of tuskers
burst out of the tangled undergrowth and the tiger jumped down into the
_nullah_ again.

Then like a flash it leaped into sight over the near bank, bounding in a
furious charge straight at Badshah. Noreen held her breath as it crouched
to spring. Dermot's rifle was at his shoulder, and he pressed the trigger.
There was a click--the cartridge had missed fire. And the tiger sprang full
at the man.

But as it did so Badshah swung swiftly round--well for Noreen that she was
securely fastened--for he had been standing a little sideways. And with an
upward sweep of his head he caught the leaping tiger in mid-air on the
point of his tusk, hurling it back a dozen yards.

As the baffled brute struck the ground with a heavy thud it lay still for a
second and then sprang up, but at that moment Dermot's second barrel rang
out, and, shot through the brain, the tiger collapsed, its head resting on
its paws. A tremor shook the powerful frame, the tail twitched feebly, then
all was still.

The long line of elephants halted on the far bank of the _nullah_, swung
into file, and moved swiftly out of sight. Their work was done.

Dermot reloaded and urged Badshah forward, covering the tiger with his
rifle. There was no need. It was dead.

Noreen leant forward and looked down at the striped body.

"What a splendid beast!" she exclaimed.

Dermot turned to her.

"You kept your word well, Miss Daleham," he said. "I congratulate you on
your pluck. The highest compliment I can pay you is to say that I forgot
you were there. Not many men would have sat as quiet as you did when the
cartridge missed fire and the brute sprang."

The girl's eyes sparkled and she blushed. His praise was very dear to her.

In a lighter tone he continued:

"As a reward and a souvenir you shall have the skin. I'll get the
villagers to take it off. Now stay on Badshah, please, while I slip down
and have a look at the tiger's little nest."

With rifle at the ready, lest the dead animal should have had a mate,
he climbed down into the _nullah_. He had not gone ten yards before his
foot struck against something hard. In the pressed-down weeds was the
half-gnawed skull of a man. The skin and flesh of the face were fairly
intact. He took the head up in his hands. On the forehead were painted
three white horizontal strokes. The tiger's last prey had been a
Brahmin. A thought flashed across Dermot's mind. He searched about.
A few bones, parts of the hands and feet, some rags of clothing--and
a long flat narrow leather case. He tore this open and hastily took
out the papers it contained; and as he skimmed through them his eyes
glistened with delight.

He sprang up out of the _nullah_ and ran towards Badshah. When the
elephant's trunk had swung him up on to the massive head he said:

"We must go back at once. I 'll tell the villagers as we pass to flay the
tiger. I must borrow your brother's pony and ride as fast as I can to
Salchini to get Payne's motor to take me to the railway."

"The railway?" exclaimed the girl. "Why, what is the matter? Where are you
going?"

"To Simla. I've found the lost messenger. Aye, and perhaps information that
may save India and proofs that will hang our friends in the Palace of
Lalpuri. _Mul_, Badshah!"

CHAPTER XIX

TEMPEST

The storm had burst on India. In the Khyber Pass there was fiercer fighting
than even that blood-stained defile had ever seen. The flames kindled by
fanaticism and lust of plunder blazed up along the North-west Frontier and
burned fiercest around Peshawar, where the Pathan tribes gathered thickest.
No news came from the interior of Bhutan.

So far, however, the interior of the land was comparatively tranquil.
Sporadic outbreaks in the Bombay Presidency and the Punjaub had been
crushed promptly. The great plan of a wide-spread concerted rising
throughout the peninsula had come to naught, thanks to the papers that
Dermot had found in the man-eater's den. He had carried them straight to
Simla himself, for closer examination had confirmed his first impression
and shown him that they were far too important to be confided to any one
else.

The information in them proved to be of the utmost value, for they
disclosed the complete plans of the conspirators and told the very dates
arranged for the advance of the Afghan army and the attacks of the Pathans,
which were to take place simultaneously with the general rising in India.
This latter the military authorities were enabled to deal with so
effectively that it came to nothing.

Incidentally the papers conclusively proved the treason of the Rajah and
the _Dewan_ of Lalpuri, and that the Palace was one of the most important
centres of the conspiracy. To Dermot's amazement no action was taken
against the two arch-plotters, owing to the incredible timidity of the
chief civil authorities in India and their susceptibility to political
influences in England. For Lalpuri and its rulers had been taken under the
very particular protection of the Socialist Party; and the Government of
India feared to touch the traitors. The excuse given for this leniency was
that any attempt to punish them might be the signal for the long delayed
rising in Lalpuri and Eastern Bengal generally.

A few days after Dermot's return from Simla orders came to him from the
Adjutant General to hand over the command of the detachment to Parker, as
he himself had been appointed extra departmental Political Officer of the
Bhutan Border, with headquarters at Ranga Duar. This released him from the
responsibilities of his military duties and left him free to devote himself
to watching the frontier. He was able to keep in communication with Parker
by means of signal stations established on high peaks near the Fort,
visible from many points in the mountains and the forest; for he carried a
signalling outfit always with him.

Thanks to this precaution the garrison of the outpost was not taken by
surprise when one morning the hills around Ranga Duar were seen to be
covered with masses of armed men, and long lines of troops wound down the
mountain paths. For from the peaks above the pass through which he had once
gone to the Death Place of the elephants, Dermot had looked down upon an
invading force of Chinese regulars supported by levies of Bhutanese from
the interior and a wild mob of masterless Bhuttias from both sides of the
border. He had flashed a warning to Parker in ample time, returned to the
_peelkhana_ and bidden Ramnath hide with Badshah in a concealed spot in the
foothills where he could easily find them, sent the other _mahouts_ and
elephants out of reach of the invaders, and climbed up to the Fort to watch
with his late subaltern the arrival of the enemy.

"Well, Major, it's come our way at last," said Parker as they greeted each
other. "Thanks to your warning we're ready for them. But we are not the
only people who've been expecting them. The wires are cut, the road
blocked, and we are isolated."

"Yes, I know. Many messengers have got through from the enemy; for my
cordon of faithful Bhuttias has disappeared. The members of it have joined
the invaders in the hope of loot." Parker looked up at the hills, black
with descending forms.

"There's a mighty lot of the beggars," he said simply. "Do you remember our
discussing this very happening once and your saying that we weren't equal
to stopping a whole army? What's your advice now?"

"See it out. We're bound to go under in the end, but we'll be able, I hope,
to keep them off for a few days. And every hour we hold them up will be
worth a lot to those below. We shan't be relieved, for there aren't any men
to spare in India. But we'll have done our part."

"I say, Major, wasn't it lucky we got those machine guns in time? I've
plenty of ammunition, so we ought to be able to put up a good fight.
What'll they do first?"

"Try to rush the defences at once. They have a lot of irregulars whom the
Chinese General won't be able to keep in hand. He won't mind their being
wiped out either. I see you've made a good job of clearing the foreground.
You haven't left them much cover. So you blew up our poor old Mess and the
bungalows?"

"Yes. The rubble came in handy for filling in that _nullah_. Hullo!"
Parker's glasses went to his eyes. "You're right, by Jingo! They're
gathering for an assault. Gad! what a beautiful mark for shrapnel. I wish
we'd a gun or two."

A storm of shells from the mountain batteries, the only artillery that the
enemy had been able to bring with them through the Himalayas, fell on the
Fort and its defences. Then masses of men rushed down the hills to the
attack. Not a shot was fired at them. Encouraged by the garrison's silence
and carried away by the prospect of an easy victory, they lost all
formation and crowded together in dense swarms.

The two British officers watched them from the central redoubt. Parker held
his binoculars to his eyes with his right hand, while his left forefinger
rested on a polished button in a little machine on the table beside him.
The assailants, favoured by the fall of the ground, soon reached the limits
of the cantonments, bare now of buildings and trees. There were trained
Chinese troops, some tall, light-complexioned Northerners of Manchu blood,
others stocky, yellow men from Canton and the Southern Provinces. Mobs of
Bhutanese with heads, chests, legs, and feet bare, fierce but undisciplined
fighters, armed with varied weapons, led the van. Uttering weird yells and
brandishing their _dahs_, spears, muskets, and rifles, they rushed towards
the fort, from which no shot was fired. Accustomed to the lofty _jongs_, or
castles, of their own land they deemed the breastworks and trenches
unworthy of notice. And the stone barracks and walls in the Fort were
rapidly melting away under the rain of shells.

Flushed with victory the swarming masses came on. But suddenly the world
upheaved behind the leaders. Rocks, earth, and rubble went up in clouds
into the air, and with them scores of the Chinese regular troops, under
whose very feet mines of the new explosive had been fired by Parker. And
the howling mobs in front were held up by barbed wire, while from the
despised trenches and breastworks a storm of lead swept the crowded masses
of the attackers away. At that close range every bullet from the machine
guns and rifles of the defenders drove through two or three assailants,
every bomb and grenade slew a group. Only in one spot by sheer weight of
numbers did they break through.

But like a thunderbolt fell the counter-attack. Stalwart Punjaubi
Mohammedans, led by Dermot, swept down upon them, and with bomb and bayonet
drove them out. The survivors turned and staggered up the hills again,
withering away under the steady fire of the sepoys, who adjusted their
sights with the utmost coolness as the range increased.

Again and again the assaults were repeated and repulsed, until the
undisciplined and demoralised Bhutanese refused to advance, and the Chinese
regulars attacked alone. But fresh mines exploded under them; the deadly
fire of the defenders' machine guns blasted them; and the Pekin general
looked anxious as his best troops melted away. He would not go far into
India if every small body of its soldiers took equally heavy toll of his
force. So he ordered a cessation of the assaults.

But there was no respite for the little garrison. Day and night the
pitiless bombardment by the mountain batteries and long-range fire of
rifles and machine guns never ceased. And death was busy among the
defenders.

On the third night of the siege Dermot and the subaltern knelt side by side
in what was now the last line of the defence.

"I ought not to ask you to go, Major," whispered Parker. "It's not possible
to get through, I'm afraid. I can't forget the awful sight of the fiendish
tortures they inflicted on poor Hikmat Khan and Shaikh Ismail today in full
view of us all. They tried to slip through last night with their naked
bodies covered with oil. It's a terrible death for you if they catch you.
It would be much easier to die fighting. Yet someone ought to go."

"Yes, they must be told at Headquarters," replied his companion in an
equally low tone. "We can't hold them two days longer."

"Not that, if they try to rush us again. Our ammunition is giving out,"
said Parker. "I'd go myself if I weren't commanding here. But I'd have no
chance of getting through. You are our only hope. Oh, I don't mean of
relief. There's no possibility of that."

"No; if I do manage to get into touch with Headquarters, it would be too
late, even if they could spare any troops."

"Yes, it's all over now, bar the shouting. Well, we've had some jolly times
together, sir, you and I, in this little place, haven't we? Do you remember
when the Dalehams were up here? What a nice girl she was. I hope she's
safe."

"I hope to Heaven she is," muttered Dermot. "Well, Parker, I must say
good-bye. We've been good friends, you and I; and I'm sorry it's the
end."

In the darkness their hands met in a firm grip.

"One word, sir," whispered the subaltern. "If you do pull through, you've
got my mother's address. You'll let her know? She thinks a lot of me, poor
old lady."

Dermot answered him only by a pressure of the hand. The next moment he was
gone. Parker, straining eyes and ears, saw nothing, heard nothing.

Half an hour later a picquet of slant-eyed men lying on the steep slopes of
the hill below the Fort saw above them a man's figure dark against the
paling stars. They challenged and sprang towards it with levelled bayonets.
The next instant they were hurled apart, dashed to the ground, trampled to
death. One as he expired had a shadowy vision of some awful bulk towering
black against the coming dawn.

The sun was low in the heavens when Dermot awoke in a bracken-carpeted
glade of the forest thirty miles away from Ranga Duar. Over him Badshah
stood watchfully. The man yawned, rubbed his eyes and sat up. He looked at
his watch.

"Good Heavens! I've slept for hours!" he cried.

Overcome by fatigue, for he had not even lain down once since the siege
began, and finding that he was in danger of falling off the elephant, he
had dismounted for a few minutes' rest. But exhausted Nature had conquered
him, and he had fallen into a deep sleep. Haggard, hollow-eyed, and worn
out, despite the rest, he staggered to his feet and was swung up to
Badshah's neck by the crooked trunk and started again.

He was hastening towards Salchini, where he hoped to secure Payne's car, if
the owner had not fled, and try to get into touch with Army Headquarters.
But what to do if his friend had gone he hardly knew. The heavy firing at
Ranga Duar, echoed by the mountains, must have been heard in the district;
and all the planters had probably taken the warning and gone away. He was
racked with anxiety as to Noreen's fate and could only hope that at the
first alarm her brother had hurried her off. But there was no military
station nearer than Calcutta or Darjeeling, and by this time it was
probable that the whole of Eastern Bengal was in revolt. God help the
Englishwoman that fell into its people's hands! The temptation to turn
aside to Malpura was great. But Dermot overcame it. His duty came first.

Darkness had fallen on the jungle now. Except to lessen his speed it made
little difference to the elephant; but for the man it was harder to find
his way. On the twisting jungle tracks his luminous compass was of little
use. He was forced to trust mainly to the animal.

But soon a suspicion arose in his mind that Badshah had swerved away from
the direction in which Salchini lay and was heading for Malpura. It became
certainty when they reached a deep _nullah_ in the forest which Dermot knew
was on the route to that garden. He tried to turn the elephant. Badshah
paid no heed to him and held on his way with an invincible determination
that made the man suspect there was a grave reason for his obstinacy. He
knew too well the animal's strange and mysterious intelligence. He gave up
contending uselessly and was borne along through the dark forest
unresisting. Over the tree-tops floated the long, wailing cry of a Giant
Owl circling against the stars. Close to their path the warning bark of a
_khakur_ deer was answered by the harsh braying roar of a tiger. Far away
the metallic trumpeting of a wild elephant rang out into the night.

Presently Dermot saw a red glow through the trees ahead. Badshah never
checked his pace but swept on until the glow became a ruddy glare staining
the tree-trunks. Suddenly the stars shone overhead. They were clear of the
jungle; and as they emerged on the open clearing of the tea-garden a column
of fire blazed up ahead of them.

A chill fear smote Dermot. He would have urged Badshah on, but the elephant
did not need it. Rapidly they sped along the soft road towards the leaping
flames, which the soldier soon realised rose from the burning factory and
withering sheds. And black against the light danced hundreds of figures,
while yells and wild cries rent the air. And, well to one side, a fresh
burst of flame and sparks leapt up into the night. It was one of the
bungalows afire. Round it more figures moved fantastically. A groan came
from the man's lips. Was it Daleham's bungalow that burned?

All at once Badshah stopped of his own accord and sank down on his knees.
Mechanically his rider slipped to the ground and stood staring at the
strange scene. He hardly noticed that the elephant rose, touched him
caressingly with its trunk, swung round and sped away towards the forest.
Half-dazed and heedless of danger Dermot hurried forward. Again the flames
shot up, and by their light he saw to his relief that the Dalehams'
bungalow was still standing. Parry's house was burning furiously. Pistol in
hand he ran forward, scarcely cognizant of the crowds of shifting figures
around the blazing buildings, deaf to their triumphant yells. Groups of
natives crossed his path, shouting and leaping into the air excitedly, but
they paid no attention to him. But, as he ran, he hit up against one man
who turned and, seeing his white face, yelled and sprang away.

As Dermot neared the Dalehams' bungalow he saw that it was surrounded by a
cordon of coolies armed with rifles and strung out many yards apart. He
raced swiftly for a gap between two of them; but a man rose from the ground
and snatched at him. The soldier struck savagely at him with the hand in
which the pistol was firmly clenched, putting all his weight into the blow.
The native crumpled and fell in a heap.

Dashing on Dermot shouted Daleham's name. From behind a barricade of boxes
on the verandah a stern voice which he recognised as belonging to one of
the Punjaubi servants whom he had provided, called out:

"_Kohn hai? Kohn atha?_ (Who is there? Who comes?)"

"Sher Afzul! It is I. Dermot Sahib," he replied, as he sprang up the
verandah steps.

The muzzle of a rifle was pointed at him over the barricade, and a bearded
face peered at him.

"It is the Major Sahib!" said the Mohammedan. "In the name of Allah, Sahib,
have you brought your sepoys?"

"No; I am alone. Where are the Sahib and the missie _baba?_"

"In the bungalow. Enter, Sahib."

Dermot climbed over the barricade and pushed open the door of the
dining-room, which was in darkness. But the heavy curtain dividing it
from the drawing-room was dragged aside and Daleham appeared in the
doorway, outlined against the faint light of a turned-down lamp. Behind
him Noreen was rising from a chair.

"Who's there?" cried the boy, raising a revolver.

"It's all right, Daleham. It's I, Dermot. I'm alone, I'm sorry to say."

A stifled cry burst from the girl.

"Oh, you are safe, thank God!" she cried, her hand at her heart.

"What has happened here?" asked Dermot, entering the room.

Fred let fall the curtain as he answered:

"Hell's broke loose on the garden, sir. The coolies have mutinied. Parry's
dead, murdered; and we're alive only by the kind mercies of that brute
Chunerbutty, damn him! You were right about him, Major; and I was a
fool.... Is it true you've been attacked up in Ranga Duar?" he continued.

"Are you wounded, Major Dermot?" broke in the girl anxiously.

"No, Miss Daleham. I'm quite safe and sound."

Then he told them briefly what had happened. When he had finished he asked
them when the trouble began at Malpura.

"Three days ago," replied Fred. "The wind was blowing from the north, and
we heard firing up in the mountains. I thought you were having an extra go
of musketry there. But the coolies suddenly stopped work and gathered
outside their village, where those infernal Brahmins harangued them. I went
to order them back to their jobs----".

"Where was Parry?"

"Lying dead drunk in his bungalow. Well, some of the coolies attacked me
with _lathis_, others tried to protect me. The Brahmins told me that the
end of the British _Raj_ (dominion) had come and that you were being
attacked in Ranga Duar by a big army from China and would be wiped out.
Then I was hustled back to the bungalow where those Mohammedan servants
that you got for us--lucky you did!--turned out with rifles, which they
said afterwards you'd given them, and wanted to fire on the mob. But I
stopped them."

"Where was Chunerbutty?"

"Oh, he hadn't thrown off the mask yet. He came to me and said he was a
prisoner and would not be allowed to leave the estate. But he advised me to
ride over to Granger or some of the other fellows and get their help. But I
wouldn't leave Noreen; and Sher Afzul told me that it was as bad on the
other gardens. But only today the real trouble began."

"What happened?"

"Some news apparently reached the coolies that drove them mad with delight.
They murdered the Parsi storekeeper, looted his place, and got drunk on his
_dáru_. Then they started killing the few Mohammedans we had on the estate.
Some of the women and children got to us and we took them in. But the rest,
even the little babies, were murdered by the brutes.

"I went over to Parry, but he was still too drunk to understand me. I was
trying to rouse him when I heard shouts and ran out on the verandah. All
the coolies, men, women, and children, were streaming towards the
bungalows, mad with excitement, screaming and yelling. The men and even
most of the boys carried weapons. The Brahmins were leading them. They made
for Chunerbutty's house first. I was going to run to his assistance, when
he came out and they cheered him like anything. He was in native dress and
had marks painted on his forehead like the other Brahmins."

"Yes; go on. What happened then?"

"The engineer seemed as excited and mad as the rest. He ran down his steps,
put himself at the head of the mob, shouted out something, and pointed to
Parry's bungalow. They all rushed over to it, yelling like mad. Poor old
Parr heard them and, dazed and drunk, staggered out on the verandah in his
pyjamas and bare feet. Chunerbutty and the Brahmins came up the steps,
driving back the crowd, which tried to follow them, howling like demons."

Fred passed his hand across his eyes. Dermot bent forward and stared
eagerly at him, while Noreen looked only at the soldier.

"I called out to the engineer and asked him what it all meant," went on the
boy, "but he took no notice of me. Parry tottered towards him, abusing him.
Chunerbutty let him come to within a yard or two, then pulled out a pistol
and fired three shots straight at the old man's heart. Poor old Parr fell
dead."

Daleham paused for a moment.

"Poor old chap! He had his faults; but he had his good points, too. Well,
I rushed towards him, but the Bengalis fell on me, knocked me down, and
overpowered me. The mob outside yelled for my blood; but Chunerbutty shut
them up. I was allowed to get on my feet again; and Chunerbutty held a
pistol to my head, and cursed me and ordered me to go back to my bungalow
and wait. He said that somebody would come here tomorrow to settle what was
to be my fate and to take Noreen."

The girl sprang up.

"You never told me that," she cried.

"No; it wasn't any use distressing you," replied her brother. "But I had to
tell the Major."

She turned impetuously to Dermot and stretched out her arms to him.

"You won't let them take me, will you? Oh, say you won't!" she said with a
little sob.

He took both her hands in his.

"No, little girl, I won't. Not while I live."

"You'll kill me first? Promise me."

"On my honour."

She gave a sigh of relief and, strangely content, sank back into her chair.
But she still held one of his hands clasped tightly in both of hers.

"Well, that's pretty well all there is to tell, Major," her brother went
on. "I came back here, and the servants and I tried to put the house into a
state of defence. No one's come near us so far."

"So Chunerbutty was at the head of affairs here. I thought so, I suppose
the someone is that scoundrelly Rajah. He'll make his conditions known and,
if you don't surrender, they'll attack us. Now, let's see what we've got as
garrison. We two and the servants--seven. How are you off for weapons? I
left my rifle behind."

"The servants have got their rifles and plenty of ammunition. I have a
double-barrelled .400 cordite rifle and a shot-gun. If it comes to a scrap
I'll take that and leave you the rifle. You're a much better shot; and I
can't miss at close quarters with a scatter-gun."

"Do you think there's any hope for us?" asked the girl quietly.

"Frankly, I don't. I'd not put it so bluntly, only I've seen you in a tight
corner before, Miss Daleham, and you weren't afraid."

"I am not now," she replied calmly.

"I believe we'd hold off these coolies, aye, and the Rajah's soldiers too,
if they came. But we may have the Chinese troops on us at any minute; and
that's a different matter."

"But why should you stay with us, Major Dermot?" said the girl anxiously.
"As you got in through these men, surely you could escape the same way."

"I'll be candid with you, Miss Daleham, and tell you that if I could I
would. For it's my duty to go on and report. But I'm stranded without my
elephant, and even if I had him it wouldn't be much good unless I had
Payne's car. And what has happened here must have happened on the other
gardens. Without the motor I'd be too late with my news. So I'll stay here
and take my chance."

Then he laughed and added:

"But cheer up; we're not dead yet. If only I'd Badshah I'd take you both up
on him and we'd break through the whole Chinese Army."

The girl shook her head.

"We couldn't go. We couldn't leave those poor women and children and the
servants."

"I forgot them. No; you're right. Well, I haven't lost all hope. I have
great faith in old Badshah. I shouldn't be surprised if he got us out of
this scrape, as he did before."

"Oh, I forgot him. I believe he'll help us still," cried the girl. "Where
did you leave him?"

"He left me. He's quite able to take care of himself," replied Dermot
grimly. "Now, Daleham, please take me round the house and show me the
defences; and we'll arrange about the roster of sentry-duty with the
servants. Please excuse me, Miss Daleham."

Through the weary night the two men, when not taking their turn on guard,
sat and talked with Noreen in the drawing-room. For the girl refused to go
to bed and, only to content them, lay back on a settee.

When she and Dermot were left alone she sighed and said:

"Ah, my beautiful forest! I must say good-bye to it. How I have enjoyed the
happy days in it."

"Some of them were too exciting to be pleasant," he replied smiling.

"But the others made up for them. I like to think of you in the forest
best," she said dreamily. "We were real friends there."

"And elsewhere, I hope."

"No. In Darjeeling you didn't like me."

"I did. Tonight I can be frank and tell you that I was glad to go to it
because you were there."

She looked at him wonderingly.

"But you wouldn't take any notice of me there," she said.

"No. I was told that you were engaged, or practically engaged, to
Charlesworth, and disliked any one else taking up your time."

She sat up indignantly.

"To Captain Charlesworth? How absurd! I suppose I've Ida to thank for that.
I wouldn't have married him for anything."

"Is that so? What a game of cross-purposes life is! But that's why I didn't
try to speak to you much."

"Did you want to? I thought you disliked me. And it hurt me so much. Do you
know, I used to cry about it sometimes. I wanted you to be my friend."

He walked over to her settee.

"Noreen, dear, I wanted to be your friend and you to be mine," he said,
looking down at her. "I liked you so much. At least, I thought I liked
you."

"And--and don't you?" she asked, looking up at him.

He knelt beside her.

"No, little friend, I don't like you. Because I--" He paused.

"What?" she whispered faintly.

"I love you, dear. Do you think it absurd?"

She was silent for a moment. Then she looked slowly up at him; and in her
eyes he read her answer.

"Sweetheart! Little sweetheart!" he whispered, and held out his arms to
her.

With a little cry she crept into them; and he pressed her to his heart. At
that moment enemies, danger, death, were forgotten. For Noreen her whole
world lay within the circle of his arms.

"Do you really, really love me?" she asked wonderingly.

He held her very close to his heart and looked fondly, tenderly down into
the lovely upturned face.

"Love you, my dearest? I love you with all my heart, my soul, my being," he
whispered. "How could I help loving you?"

And bending down he kissed her fondly.

"It's all so wonderful," she murmured. "I didn't think that you cared for
me, that you could ever care. You seemed so far away, too occupied with
important things to spare a thought for me. So serious a person, and
sometimes so stern, that I was afraid of you."

He laughed amusedly.

"The wonder is that you ever came to care for me. You do care, don't you,
beloved?"

She looked up at him earnestly.

"Dear, do I seem forward, bold? But our time together is too short for
pretence. Yes, I do care. I love you? I seem to have always loved you. Or
at least to have waited always to love you. I don't think I knew what love
was until now. Until now. Now I do know."

She paused and stared across the room, seeing the vision of her childhood,
her girlhood. From outside came intermittent shouts and an occasional
random shot. But she did not hear them.

"As a child, as a schoolgirl, even afterwards, I used to day-dream. I used
to wonder if any one would ever love me, ever teach me what love is. I
dreamt of a Fairy Prince who would come to me one day, of a strong, brave,
tender man who would care for me, who would want me to care for him. I
often laughed at myself for it afterwards. For in London men all seemed so
very unlike my dream-hero."

She turned her face to him and looked tenderly at him.

"But when I met you," she continued, "I think I knew that you were He. But
I never dared hope that you would learn to care for me."

"Dearest heart," he replied, "I think I must have fallen in love with you
the first moment I saw you. I can see you now as you stood surrounded by
the elephants, a delightful but most unexpected vision in the jungle."

"Did you--oh, did you really like me that very first day?" she asked
eagerly. At the moment the answer seemed to her the most important thing in
the world.

As a lover will do Dermot deceived himself and imagined that his love had
been born at the first sight of her. He told her so; and the girl forgot
the imminent, deadly peril about them in the glow of happiness that warms
the heart of a loving woman who hears that she has been beloved from the
beginning.

"But I looked so absurd," she said dreamily; "so untidy, when you first saw
me. Why, my hair was all down."

He laughed again; but the laughter died from his lips as the remembrance of
their situation returned to him. Death was ordinarily little to him; though
now life could be so sweet since she loved him. It seemed a terrible thing
that this young girl must die so soon--and probably by his own hand to save
her from a worse fate.

She guessed his thoughts.

"Is this really the end, dear?" she asked, unwilling but unafraid to meet
death. "Is there no hope for us?"

"I fear not, beloved."

"I--I don't want to die so soon. Before you came tonight I wouldn't have
minded very much; for I was not happy. But now it's a little hard, just as
this wonderful thing has happened to me."

She sighed. He held out his arms again, and she crept into them and nestled
into his embrace.

"Well, if it must be so, I'll try to be worthy of my soldier and not
disgrace you, dear," she said fondly, bravely. "Let's try to forget it for
a while and not let it spoil our last hours together. Let's 'make-believe,'
as the children say. Let's pretend that this is all a hideous nightmare,
that our lives and our love are before us."

So through the long, dread night with the hideous menace never out of their
minds they talked bravely of what they would like to do, to be--if only
they were not to die so soon. Several times Noreen left him and went to
comfort, to console the poor Mohammedan women and children to whom she had
given shelter. Her brother refused to allow Dermot to relieve him on watch,
saying that he could not sleep or rest, and begging him instead to remain
with the girl to cheer her, to hearten her in the awful hours of waiting
for the end.

So Dermot was with her when a sudden uproar outside caused him to dash out
on to the verandah. From behind the barricade on the front verandah Daleham
was watching.

"What is it? Are they attacking?" cried the soldier.

"No. It's not an attack. They're cheering somebody, I think, and firing
into the air."

Dermot stared out. Men ran forward to the smouldering ruins of the factory
and threw on them tins of kerosene oil, looted from the murdered Parsi's
shop, until the flames blazed up again and lit up the scene. The hundreds
of coolies were cheering and crowding round a body of men in red coats.

"I believe it's the Rajah's infantry," said Dermot. "Are they going to
attack? Sher Afzul, wake up the others and tell them to be on their guard.
Give me that rifle, Daleham."

So Noreen did not see her lover again until the sun rose on a scene of
desolation and ruin. Smoke and sparks still came from the blackened heaps
of the destroyed buildings. The cordon of sentries had apparently been
withdrawn; but when Daleham climbed up on the barricade to get a better
view a shot was fired from somewhere and a bullet tore up the ground before
the bungalow.

A couple of hours dragged slowly by; and then a servant doing sentry on the
front verandah reported a cloud of dust on the road from the forest leading
to the village. Dermot went out on the front verandah which looked towards
the coolie lines and put up the glasses.

"Some men on horses. Yes, and a motor-car coming slowly behind them," he
said to Daleham and his sister, who had followed him out. "It's the Rajah
and his escort, I suppose. Things will begin to move now."

When the newcomers reached the village a storm of shouting arose. Volley
after volley of shots were fired, conch-shells blown, tom-toms beaten.

"Yes, there's no doubt of it. It must be that fat brute," said Daleham.

Half an hour went by. The sun was high in the heavens. The landscape was
bare of life. Not a man was visible. But presently from the village came a
little figure, a naked little coolie boy. He moved slowly towards the
bungalow, stopping every few minutes to look back to the huts, then
advancing again with evident reluctance.

Dermot watched him through the glass. The whole garrison was on the
verandah.

"He's a messenger. I see a letter in his hand," said the soldier. "Poor
little devil, he's in an awful funk. None of the cowards dared do it
themselves, so they beat this child and made him come."

At last the frightened infant reached the bungalow, and Sher Afzul met him
and took the letter from him. Fred tore it open. It was written by
Chunerbutty and couched in the most offensive terms. If within half an hour
Miss Daleham came willingly to the Rajah, her brother's life would be
spared and he would be given a safe conduct to Calcutta. But everyone else
in the bungalow would be put to death, including the white man reported to
have entered it during the night. If the girl did not surrender, her
brother would be killed with the rest and she herself taken by force.

Dermot acquainted the Mohammedan servants with the contents, to show them
that there was no hope for them, so that they would fight to the death. The
little boy was told that there was no answer, and Daleham gave him a few
copper coins; but the scared child dropped them as though they were red hot
and scampered back to the village as fast as his little legs would carry
him.

CHAPTER XX

THE GOD OF THE ELEPHANTS

At the end of the half hour a tempest of noise arose from the village;
tom-toms were beaten, conch-shells blown and vigorous cheering was
heard. Then from the huts long lines of coolies carrying weapons of
every sort, rifles, old muskets, spears, and swords streamed out and
encircled the bungalow at a distance. A little later the Rajah's twenty
horsemen rode out of the village on their raw-boned stallions, followed
by a hundred infantry soldiers who, Dermot observed, were now armed with
rifles in place of their former muskets.

The dismounted troops formed up before the bungalow but half a mile away,
in two lines in open order. But the cavalry kept together in a body; and
the officer, turning in his saddle to speak to his men, pointed to the
house with his sword.

"I believe they're going to charge us," said Dermot.

He had divided up the garrison to the four sides of the bungalow; but now,
leaving one man with the shot gun to keep a watch on the back, he collected
the rest on the front verandah. Noreen was inside, feeding the hungry
children and consoling the mothers.

"Now, Daleham, don't fire until they are close, and then aim at the
horses," said the Major, repeating the instruction to the servants in Urdu.

The Punjaubis grinned and patted their rifles.

The cavalry advanced. The _sowars_ ambled forward, brandishing their curved
sabres and uttering fierce yells. Dermot, knowing Sher Afzul and another
man to be good shots, ordered them to open fire when the horsemen were
about four hundred yards away. He himself took a steady aim at the
commander and pressed the trigger. The officer, shot through the body,
threw up his arms and fell forward on his horse's head. The startled animal
shied and bolted across the furrows; and the corpse, dropping from the
saddle, was dragged along the ground, one foot being caught in a stirrup.
The cavalry checked for an instant; and Dermot fired again. A _sowar_ fell.
The rest cantered forward, yelling and waving their _tulwars_. Sher
Afzul and the other servants opened fire. A second horseman dropped from
his saddle, a stallion stumbled and fell, throwing its rider heavily.
The firing grew faster. Two or three more horses were wounded and
galloped wildly off. The rest of the cavalry came on, but, losing their
nerve, checked their pace instead of charging home.

Dermot, loading and firing rapidly, bringing a _sowar_ down with each shot,
suddenly found Noreen crouching beside him behind the barricade. She was
holding a revolver.

"For Heaven's sake, get into the house, darling!" he cried.

"No; I have Fred's pistol and know how to use it," she answered, calmly. "I
have often practised with it."

He could not stop to argue with her, for the troopers still came on. But
they bunched together, knee to knee, in a frontal attack, instead of
assaulting from all four sides at once. They made a splendid target and
suffered heavily. But some brought their horses' heads almost against the
verandah railing. All the garrison rose from behind the barricade and fired
point-blank at them. The girl, steadying her hand on a box, shot one
_sowar_ through the body. The few survivors turned and galloped madly away,
leaving most of their number on the ground. To cover their retreat a ragged
volley broke from the infantry; and a storm of bullets flew over and around
the bungalow, ricocheted from the ground or struck the walls. But one young
Mohammedan servant, who had incautiously exposed himself, dropped back shot
through the lungs.

Then from every side fire was opened, the coolies blazing wildly; but as
none of them had ever had a rifle in his hands before, the firing was for
the most part innocuous. Yet it served to encourage them, and they drew
nearer. The garrison, with only one or two defenders to each side of the
house, could not keep them at a distance. The infantry began to crawl
forward. The circle of foes closed in on the bungalow and its doomed
inhabitants. Shrieks and cries rose from the women and children inside.

But although every bullet from the garrison found its billet, the issue was
only a matter of time. Ill-directed as was the assailants' fire, the
showers of bullets were too thick not to have some effect. Another servant
was killed, a third wounded. Daleham was struck on the shoulder by a
ricochet but only scratched. A rifle bullet, piercing the barricade, passed
through Noreen's hair, as she crouched beside her lover, whom she
resolutely refused to leave. The ring of enemies constricted.

Suddenly a bugle sounded from the village; and after a little the firing
from the attackers ceased. Dermot, who with Noreen and Sher Afzul, was
defending the front verandah, looked cautiously over the barricade. A white
flag appeared in the village. The Major shouted to the others in the house
to hold their fire but be on their guard.

After a pause the flag advanced, borne by a coolie. It was followed by a
group of men; and Dermot through the glasses recognised the Rajah and
Chunerbutty accompanied by several Brahmins. They advanced timidly towards
the bungalow and stopped a hundred yards away. After some urging
Chunerbutty stepped to the front and called for Daleham to appear.

Fred came through the house from the back verandah, where his place was
taken by Sher Afzul. He looked over the barricade. Chunerbutty came nearer
and shouted:

"Daleham, the Rajah gives you one more chance to surrender. You see your
case is hopeless. You can have a quarter of an hour to think things over.
If at the end of that time you and your sister don't come out, we'll rush
the bungalow and finish you all."

Standing under the white flag he drew out his watch.

"Thank you," said Daleham; "and our reply is that if in a quarter of an
hour you're still there, you'll get a bullet through you, white flag or no
white flag."

He turned to Dermot whose arm was around Noreen as she crouched beside him.

"Well, Major, it's fifteen more minutes of life, that's all."

"Yes, it's nearly the end now. I've only two cartridges left."

"We're all in the same box. Getting near time we said good-bye. It was
jolly good of you to stick by us, when you might have got away last night."

Dermot gripped the outstretched hand.

"If I go under first, you'll not let Noreen fall alive into the hands of
those brutes, will you, sir?"

The girl raised her revolver.

"I'll keep the last cartridge for myself, dear," she said.

She looked lovingly at Dermot whose arm was still about her. Her brother
betrayed no surprise.

"I'm not afraid to die, dear one," she whispered to her lover. "I couldn't
live without you now. And I'm happy at this moment, happier than I've ever
been, I think. But I wish you had saved yourself."

He mastered his emotion with difficulty.

"Darling, life without you wouldn't be possible for me either."

He could not take his eyes from her; and the minutes were flying all too
swiftly. At last he looked at his watch and held out his hand to the boy.

"Good-bye, Daleham, you've got your wish. You're dying like a soldier for
England," he said. "We've done our share for her. Now, we've three minutes
more. If the Rajah and Chunerbutty come into view again I'll have them with
my last two shots."

He turned to the girl and took her in his arms for a last embrace.

"Good-bye, sweetheart. Dear love of my heart. Pray that we may be together
in the next world."

He paused and listened.

"Are they coming?"

But he did not put her from him. One second now was worth an eternity.

Then suddenly a distant murmur swelled through the strange silence. Daleham
looked out over the barricade.

"They're--No. What is it? What are they doing?"

All round the circle of besiegers there was an eerie hush. No voice was
heard. All--the Rajah, the flag-bearer, Brahmins, soldiers, coolies--had
turned their faces away from the bungalow and were staring into the
distance. And as the few survivors of the garrison looked up over the
barricade an incredible sight met their eyes.

From the far-off forest, bursting out at every point of the long-stretching
wall of dark undergrowth that hemmed in the wide estate, wild elephants
appeared. Over the furrowed acres they streamed in endless lines, trampling
down the ordered stretch of green bushes. In scores, in hundreds, they
came, silently, slowly; the great heads nodding to the rhythm of their
gait, the trunks swinging, the ragged ears flapping, as they advanced.
Converging as they came, they drew together in a solid mass that blotted
out the ground, a mass sombre-hued, dark, relieved only by flashes of
gleaming white. For on either side of every massive skull jutted out the
sharp-pointed, curving ivory. Of all save one.

For the mammoth that led them, the splendid beast that captained the
oncoming array of Titans under the ponderous strokes of whose feet the
ground trembled, had one tusk, one only. And as though the white flag were
a magnet to him, he moved unerringly towards it, the immense, earth-shaking
phalanx following him.

The awestruck crowds of armed men, so lately flushed with fanatical lust of
slaughter, stood as though turned to stone, their faces set towards the
terrifying onset. Their pain unheeded, their groans silenced, the wounded
staggered to their feet to look. Even the dying strove to raise themselves
on their arms from the reddened soil to gaze, and, gazing, fell back dead.
Slowly, mechanically, silently, the living gave way, the weapons dropping
from their nerveless grip. Step by step they drew back as if compelled by
some strange mesmeric power.

And on the verandah the few survivors of the little band stood together,
silent, amazed, scarce believing their eyes as they stared at the
incredible vision. All but Dermot. His gaze was fixed on the leader of that
terrible army; and he smiled, tenderly yet proudly. His arm drew the girl
beside him still closer to him, as he murmured:

"He comes to save us for each other, beloved!"

Nothing was heard, save the dull thunder of the giant feet. Then from the
village the high-pitched shriek of a woman pierced the air and shattered
the eerie silence of the terror-stricken crowds. Murmurs, groans, swelled
into shouts, wild yells, the appalling uproar of panic; and strong and
weak, hale men and those from whose wounds the life-blood dripped, turned
and fled. Fled past their dead brothers, past the little group of leaders
whose power to sway them had vanished before this awful menace.

Petrified, rooted to the ground as though their quaking limbs were
incapable of movement, the Rajah and his satellites stood motionless before
the oncoming elephants. But when the leader almost towered above him,
Chunerbutty was galvanised to life again. In mad panic he raised a pistol
in his trembling hand and fired at the great beast. The next instant the
huge tusk caught him. He was struck to the earth, gored, and lifted high in
air. An appalling shriek burst from his bloodless lips. He was hurled to
the ground with terrific force and trodden under foot. The Rajah screamed
shrilly and turned to flee. Too late! The earth shook as the great phalanx
moved on faster and passed without checking over the white-clad group,
blotting them out of all semblance to humanity.

The dying yell of the renegade Hindu, arresting in its note of agony,
caused the fleeing crowds to pause and turn to look. And as they witnessed
the annihilation of their leaders they saw a yet more wondrous sight. For
the dark array of monsters halted as the leader reached the house; and with
the sea of twisted trunks upraised to salute him and a terrifying peal of
trumpeting, they welcomed the white man who walked out from the shot-torn
building towards the leader of the vast herd. Then in a solemn hush he was
raised high in air and held aloft for all to see, beasts and men. And in
the silence a single voice in the awestruck crowds cried shrilly:

"_Hathi ka Deo ki jai!_ (Victory to the God of the Elephants!)"

In wonder, in dread, in superstitious reverence, hundreds of voices took up
the refrain: _"Hathi ka Deo! Hathi ka Deo ki jai!"_

And leaving his thousand companions behind, the sacred elephant that all
recognised now advanced towards the shrinking crowds, bearing the dread
white god upon its neck. Had he not come invisibly among them again? Had
they not witnessed the fate of those that opposed him? Had he not summoned
from all Hindustan his man-devouring monsters to punish, to annihilate his
enemies. Forgetful of their hate, their bloodthirst, their lust of battle,
conscious only of their guilt, the terror-stricken crowds surged forward
and flung themselves down in supplication on the earth. They wept, they
wailed, they bared their heads and poured dust upon them, in all the
extravagant demonstration of Oriental sorrow. Out from the village streamed
the women and children to add their shrill cries to the lamentations.

With uplifted hand, Dermot silenced them. An awful hush succeeded the
tumult. He swept his eyes slowly over them all, and every head went down to
the dust again. Then he spoke, solemnly, clearly; and his voice reached
everyone in the prostrate mob.

"My wrath is upon you and upon your children. Flee where you will, it shall
overtake you. You have sinned and must atone. On those most guilty
punishment has already fallen. Where are they that misled you? Go look for
them under the feet of my elephants. Yet from you, ye poor deluded fools,
for the moment I withhold my hand. But touch a single hair of those in your
midst whom I protect, and you perish."

Not a sound was heard.

Then he said:

"Men of Lalpuri, who have come among these fools in thirst for blood. You
have heard of me. You have seen my power. You see me. Go back to your city.
Tell them there that I, who fed my elephants on the flesh of your comrades
in the forest, shall come to them riding on my steed sacred to _Gunesh_. If
they spare the evil counselors among them, then them I will not spare. Of
their city no stone shall remain. Go back to them and bear this message to
all within and without the walls, 'The British _Raj_ shall endure. It is my
will.' Tell them to engrave it on their hearts, on their children's
hearts."

He paused. Then he spoke again:

"Rise, all ye people. Ye have my leave to go."

Noiselessly they obeyed. He watched them move away in terrified silence.
Not a whisper was heard.

Then he smiled as he said to himself:

"That should keep them quiet."

He turned Badshah towards the bungalow.

Forty miles away, when darkness fell on the mountains that night, the army
of the invaders slept soundly in their bivouacs around the doomed post of
Ranga Duar. On the morrow the last feeble resistance of its garrison must
cease, and happy those of the defenders who died. Luckless they that lived.
For the worst tortures that even China knew would be theirs.

But when the morrow came there was no longer an investing army.
Panic-stricken, the scattered remnants of the once formidable host
staggered blindly up the inhospitable mountains only to perish in the