“Dungeon window by tree.  Kathlyn.”

That was sufficient for Ahmed.  He turned the baboon over to the care of one of his subordinates and hurried away to Bruce’s camp, only to find that he had gone to the colonel’s.  Away went Ahmed again, tireless.  He found Bruce pacing the bungalow frontage.

“Ahmed.”

“Yes, Sahib.  Listen.”  He told his tale quickly.

“The guards at all the gates have orders to shoot me if they catch me within the walls of the city.  I must disguise myself in some way.”

“I’ll find you an Arab burnoose, hooded, Sahib, and that will hide you.  It will be dark by the time we reach the city, and we’ll enter by one of the other gates.  That will allay suspicion.  First we must seek the house of Ramabai.  I need money for bribery.”

Bruce searched his wallet.  It was empty.  He had given all he had to the Brahmin.

“You lead, Ahmed.  I’m dazed.”

In the city few knew anything about Ahmed, not even the keenest of Umballa’s spies.  Umballa had his suspicions, but as yet he could prove nothing.  To the populace he was a harmless animal trainer who was only too glad not in any way to be implicated with his master.  So they let him alone.  Day by day he waited for the report from Lal Singh, but so far he had heard nothing except that the British Raj was very busy killing the followers of the Mahdi in the Soudan.  It was a subtle inference that for the present all aliens in Allaha must look out for themselves.

“Sahib,” he whispered, “I have learned something.  Day after day I have been waiting, hoping.  Colonel Sahib lives, but where I know not.”

“Lives!”

“Ai!  In yonder prison where later we go.  He lives.  That is enough for his servant.  He is my father and my mother, and I would die for him and his.  Ah!  Here is the north gate.  Bend your head, Sahib, when we pass.”

They entered the city without mishap.  No one questioned them.  Indeed, they were but two in a dozen who passed in at the same time.  They threaded the narrow streets quickly, skirting the glow of many dung fires for fear that Bruce’s leggings might be revealed under his burnoose.

When at length they came to the house of Ramabai they did not seek to enter the front, but chose the gate in the rear of the garden.  The moon was up and the garden was almost as light as day.

“Ramabai!” called Bruce in a whisper.

The dreaming man seated at a table came out of his dream with a start.  A servant ran to the gate.

“Who calls?” demanded Ramabai, suspicious, as all conspirators ever are.

“It is I, Bruce,” was the reply in English, flinging aside his burnoose.

“Bruce Sahib?  Open!” cried Ramabai.  “What do you here?  Have you found her?”

Ramabai’s wife, Pundita, came from the house.  She recognized Bruce immediately.

“The Mem-sahib!  Have you found her?”