“Umballa?”

“Well?”

“Kit, my daughter?  Good God, what is she doing here when I warned her?” Hare tugged furiously at his chains.  “Durga Ram, you have beaten me.  State your terms and I will accept them to the letter. . . .  Kit, my beautiful Kit, in this hellhole!”

“Ah, but I don’t want you to accept now.  I was merely amusing myself.”  The door shut and the bolt shot home.

Hare fell upon his knees.  “My head, my head!  Dear God, save me my reason!”

* * * * * *

The moment Kathlyn arrived at the animal cages of her father she called for Ahmed.

“My father?”

“Ah, Mem-sahib, they say he is dead.  I know not.  One night—­the second after we arrived—­he was summoned to the palace.  He never came back.”

“They have killed him!”

“Perhaps.  They watch me, too; but I act simple.  We wait and see.”

Kathlyn rushed across the ground intervening between the animal cages and the bungalow.  There was no one in sight.  She ran up the steps . . . to be greeted inside by the suave Umballa.

“You?” her hand flying to her bosom.

“I, Miss Hare.”  He salaamed, with a sweeping gesture of his hands.

Sadly the wretch told her the tale; the will of the king, his death and the subsequent death of her father in his, Durga Ram’s, arms.  Yonder urn contained his ashes.  For the first time in her young life Kathlyn fainted.  She had been living on her nerves for weeks, and at the sight of that urn something snapped.  Daintily Umballa plucked forth the packet and waited.  At length she opened her eyes.

“You are a queen, Miss Hare.”

“You are mad!”

“Nay; it was the madness of the king.  But mad kings often make laws which must be obeyed.  You will accuse me of perfidy when I tell you all.  The note which brought you here was written by me and substituted for this.”

Duly Kathlyn read: 

“Kathlyn—­if not heard from, I’m held captive in Allaha.  The royal title given to me by the king made me and my descendants direct heirs to the throne.  Do not come to Allaha yourself.  Destroy sealed document herewith.

“Father.”

The Council of Three entered noiselessly from the adjoining room.  At the four dark, inscrutable faces the bewildered girl stared, her limbs numb with terror.  Gravely the council told her she must come with them to the palace.

“It is impossible!” she murmured.  “You are all mad.  I am a white woman.  I can not rule over an alien race whose tongue I can not speak, whose habits I know nothing of.  It is impossible.  Since my father is dead, I must return to my home.”

“No,” said Umballa.

“I refuse to stir!” She was all afire of a sudden:  the base trickery which had brought her here!  She was very lovely to the picturesque savage who stood at her elbow.