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.