“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.”