Low roofs of buildings, near the road, were alive with shadowy figures, running, yelling, hurling bricks and mud from a half-demolished shop near by.  Two mounted police officers made abortive attempts to get a hearing; and a solitary Indian, perched on an electric standard, well above the congested mass, vainly harangued and fluttered a white scarf as signal of pacific intentions.  Doubtless one of their ‘leaders,’ again making frantic, belated efforts to stem the torrent that he and his kind had let loose.

And the nightmare effect of the scene was intensified by the oncoming dusk, by the flare of a single torch hoisted on a pole.  It waved purposefully; and its objective was clear to Roy—­the electric supply wires.

“That brute there’s trying to cut off the light!” he exclaimed, turning sharply in the saddle, only to find that Rose had not even heard him.

She sat stone-still, her face set and strained, as he had seen it after the tournament. “There he is,” she murmured—­the words a mere movement of her lips.

He hated to see her look like that; and putting out a hand, he touched her arm.

“I don’t see him,” he said, answering her murmur.  “He’ll be coming, though.  Not nervous, are you?”

She started at his touch—­shrank from it almost; or so he fancied.  “Nervous?  No—­furious!” Her low tone was as tense as her whole attitude.  “Mud and stones!  Good heavens!  Why don’t they shoot?”

“They will—­at a pinch,” Roy assured her, feeling oddly rebuffed, and as if he were addressing a stranger.  “Stay here.  Don’t stir.  I’ll glean a few details from one of our outlying sowars.”

The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan.  Recognising Roy, he saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes.

“Wah, wah! Sahib!  This is not man’s work, to sit staring while these throw words to a pack of mad jackals.  On the Border we say, paili lath; pechi bhat.[31] That would soon make an end of this devil’s noise.”

“True talk,” said Roy, secretly approving the man’s rough wisdom.  “How long has it been going on?”

“We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have been nearly one hour.  Once the police-log gave buckshot to those on the roofs.  How much use—­the Sahib can see.  Now they have sent a sowar for the Dep’ty Sahib.  But these would not hear the Lat Sahib himself.  One match will light such a bonfire; but a hundred buckets will not put it out.”

Roy assented, ruefully enough.  “Is it true there has been big trouble at Amritsar—­burning and killing?”

“Wah, wah!  Shurrum ki bhat.[32] Because he who made all the trouble may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no concern—­are killed——­”

An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob.

It was swaying ominously forward, with yellings and prancings, with renewed showers of bricks and stones.