“Bootea is wonderful,” Barlow answered fervidly; “she is like a Rajput princess.”

Kassim coughed, stroked his black beard, adjusted the hilt of his tulwar, then coughed again.

“Inshalla! but thou hast said something.”  He turned to face Barlow more squarely:  “Captain Sahib, the one who suffered the wrath of Allah to-day last night sent a salaam that I would listen to a matter of value.  Not wishing to have the hated presence of the murderer in the room near where was Amir Khan I went below to where in a rock cell was this Hunsa.  This is the matter he spoke of, no doubt hoping that it would make me more merciful, therefore, of a surety I think it is a lie.  It is well known, Sahib, that the Rana of Udaipur had a beautiful daughter, and Raja Jaipur and Raja Marwar both laid claim to her hand; even Sindhia wanted the princess, but being a Mahratta—­who are nothing in the way of breeding such as are the Children of the Sun—­dust was thrown upon his beard.  But the Rajputs fly to the sword over everything and a terrible war ensued in which Udaipur was about ruined.  Then one hyena, garbed as the Minister of State, persuaded the cowardly Rana to sacrifice Princess Kumari to save Udaipur.

“All this is known, Sahib, and that she, with the courage of a Rajputni, drained the cup that contained the poison brewed from poppy leaves, and died with a smile on her lips, saying, ’Do not cry, mother; to give my life for my country is nothing.’  That is the known story, Sahib.  But what Hunsa related was that Kumari did not die, but lives, and has the name of Bootea the Gulab.”

The Chief turned his eyes quizzically upon the Englishman, who muttered a half-smothered cry of surprise.

“It can’t be—­how could the princess be with men such?”

“Better there than sacrifice.  Hunsa learned of this thing through listening beneath the wall of a tent at night while one Ajeet Singh spoke of it to the Gulab.  It was that the Rana got a yogi, a man skilled in magical things, either drugs or charms, and that Kumari was given a potion that caused her to lie dead for days; and when she was brought back to life of course she had to be removed from where Jaipur or Marwar might see her or hear of this thing, because they would fly to the sword again.”

Kassim ceased speaking and his eyes carried a look of interrogation as if he were anxious for a sustaining of his half-faith in the story.

“It’s all entirely possible,” Barlow declared emphatically; “it’s a common practice in India, this deceit as to death where a death is necessary.  It could all be easily arranged, the Rana yielding to pressure to save Mewar, and dreading the sin of being guilty of the death of his daughter.  Even the Gulab is like a Princess of the Sesodias—­like a Rajputni of the highest caste.”

“Indeed she is, Captain Sahib, the quality of breeding never lies.”

“What discredits Hunsa’s story,” Barlow said thoughtfully, “is that the Gulab was in the protection of Ajeet Singh who was but a thakur at best—­really a protector of decoits.”