When the two had gone Kassim clapped his hands together:  “Now then for the ordeal, the search for truth,” he declared.

Hot wood-ashes were poured into the horse-bag, and, protesting, cursing, struggling, the powerful Bagree was dragged to the centre of the room.

“Who sent thee to murder Amir Khan?” Kassim asked.

“Before Bhowanee, Prince, I did not kill him!”

At a wave of Kassim’s hand upward the bag of ashes was clapped over the decoit’s head, and he was pounded on the back to make him breathe in the deadly dust.  Then the bag was taken off, and gasping, reeling, he was commanded to speak the truth.  Once Kassim said:  “Dog, this is but gentle means; torches will be bound to thy fingers and lighted.  The last thing that will remain to thee will be thy tongue, for we have need of that to utter the truth.”

Three times the nosebag was applied to Hunsa, like the black cap over the head of a condemned murderer, and the last time, rolling on the floor in agony, his lungs on fire, his throat choked, his eyes searing like hot coals, he gasped that he would confess if his life were spared.

“Dog!” Kassim snarled, “thy life is forfeit, but the torture will cease; it is reward enough—­speak!”

But the Bagree had the obstinate courage of a bulldog; the nerves of his giant physical structure were scarce more vibrant than those of a bull; as to the torture it was but a question of a slower death.  But his life was something to bargain for.  Half dead from the choking of his lungs, with an animal cunning he thought of this; it was the one dominant idea in his numbed brain.  As he lay, his mighty chest pumping its short staccato gasps, Commander Kassim said:  “Bring the dog of an infidel water that he may tell the truth.”

When water had been poured down the Bagree’s throat, he rolled his bloodshot eyes beseechingly toward the Commander, and in a voice scarce beyond a hoarse whisper, said:  “If you do not kill me, Prince, I will tell what I know.”

“Tell it, dog, then die in peace,” Kassim snarled.

But Hunsa shook his gorilla head, and answered, “Bhowanee help me, I will not tell.  If I die I die with my spirit cast at thy shrine.”

Kassim stamped his foot in rage; and a jamadar roared:  “Tie the torches to the infidel’s fingers; we will have the truth.”

Half-a-dozen Pindaris darted forward, and poised in waiting for the command to bind to the fingers of the Bagree oil-soaked torches; but Kassim moved them back, and stood, his brow wrinkled in pondering, his black eyes sullenly fixed on the face of the Bagree.  Then he said:  “What this dog knows is of more value to our whole people, considering the message that has been brought, than his worthless life that is but the life of a swine.”

He took a turn pacing the marble floor, and with his eyes called a jamadar to one side.  “These thugs, when they cast themselves in the protection of Kali, die like fanatics, and this one is but an animal.  Torture will not bring the truth.  Mark you, Jamadar, I will make the compact with him.  Do not lead an objection, but trust me.”