Bruce was eating his simple evening meal when Ramabai arrived.

“Bruce Sahib?”

“Yes.  Your face is familiar.”

“You have been twice to my bank.  I am Ramabai.”

“I remember.  But what are you doing here?”

“I have come for aid, Sahib, aid for a young woman, white like yourself.”

“Then it is true?  Go ahead and let me have all the facts.  She is Hare
Sahib’s daughter; Ali told me that.  Precious rigmarole of some sort. 
The facts!”

“She is also the young lady who traveled in the same boat from Hongkong to Singapore.”  Ramabai paused to see the effect of this information.

Bruce lowered his fork slowly.  The din about him dwindled away into nothing.  He was again leaning over the rail, watching the phosphorescence trail away, a shoulder barely touching his:  one of the few women who had ever stirred him after the first glance.  In God’s name, why hadn’t she said something?  Why hadn’t she told him she was Colonel Hare’s daughter?  How was he to know? (For Hare, queerly enough, had never shown his young friend the photographs of his daughters.) Perhaps he had been at fault; he, too, had scarcely stirred from his shell.  And where was that scoundrel Rao?

“I shall enter the city as soon as I can settle my bungalow.  This rather knocks me out.”

“No, Sahib; don’t wait:  come back with me!” Quickly he outlined the desperate straits in which Kathlyn stood.  “To-morrow may be too late.”

“Ali!” called Bruce, rising.

“Yes, Sahib.”

“The Pasha.  No questions.  Give him water.  Use the hunting howdah.  Both guns and plenty of cartridges.  That’s all.”  The young man ran into his sleeping tent and presently came forth with a pair of ugly looking Colts; for this was before the days of the convenient automatics.  “All aboard, Ramabai!” Bruce laughed; the sound was as hard and metallic as the click of the cartridge belt as he slung it round his waist; but it was music to Ramabai’s ears.  “Trust me.  There shan’t be any ordeals; not so you would notice it. . . .  Great God!  A white woman, one of my kind! . . .  All right, Ali; quick work.  Thanks!”

“There will be many pitfalls, Sahib,” said Ramabai.

“Indeed!”

“I have some influence with the populace, but Umballa has the army, paid for.  The priests and the council are back of him.  And, after all, the priests are most to be feared.  They can always sway the people through fear.”

Bruce laughed again.  “Either Kathlyn Hare will be free to-morrow or Umballa and the council meat for the jackals . . . or I shall be,” he added, in afterthought.  “Now, do not speak till I speak.  I wish to think, for I’ve got to act quickly; I can’t make any mistakes when I get there.”