“On the other hand, we cannot be guilty of a breach of faith to our friend Alwa here.  I must have a little talk with him before I issue any orders.  Please wait here and—­ah—­do nothing while I talk to Alwa.  Did you—­ah—­did you agree to marry Jaimihr, should he make you Maharanee?”

“No!  I told him I would rather die!”

“Thank you.  That makes matters easier.  Now tell me over again from the beginning what you know about the political situation in Howrah.  Quickly, please.  Consider yourself a scout reporting to his officer.”

Ten minutes later Cunninham heard a commotion by the parapet, and stalked off to find Alwa, close followed by Mahommed Gunga.  The grim old Rajput was grinning in his beard as he recognized the set of what might have been Cunningham the elder’s shoulders.

CHAPTER XXVIII

    Ye may go and lay your praise
    At a shrine of other days
    By the tomb of him who gat, and her who bore me;
    My plan is good—­my way—­
    The sons of kings obey—­
    But, I’m reaping where another sowed before me.

Jaidev Singh was a five-K man, with the hair, breeches, bangle, comb, and dagger that betoken him who has sworn the vow of Khanda ka Pahul.  Every item of the Sikh ritual was devised with no other motive than to preserve the fighting character of the organization.  The very name Singh means lion.  The Sikh’s long hair with the iron ring hidden underneath is meant as a protection against sword-cuts.  And because their faith is rather spiritual than fanatical—­based rather on the cause of things than on material effect—­men of that creed take first rank among fighting men.

Jaidev Singh arrived soon after the moon had risen.  The notice of his coming was the steady drumming footfall of his horse, that slowed occasionally, and responded to the spur again immediately.

Close to the big iron gate below Alwa’s eyrie there were some of Jaimihr’s cavalry nosing about among the trampled gardens for the dead and wounded they had left there earlier in the afternoon.  They ceased searching, and formed up to intercept whoever it might be who rode in such a hurry.  Above them, on the overhanging ramparts, there was quick discussion, and one man left his post hurriedly.

“A horseman from the West!” he announced, breaking in on Alwa’s privacy without ceremony.

“One?”

“One only.”

“For us or them?”

“I know not, sahib.”

Alwa—­glad enough of the relief from puzzling his brain—­ran to the rampart and looked long at the moving dot that was coming noisily toward his fastness but that gave no sign of its identity or purpose.

“Whoever he is can see them,” he vowed.  “The moon shines full on them.  Either he is a man of theirs or else a madman!”

He watched for five more minutes without speaking.  Cunningham and Mahommed Gunga, coming out at last in search of him, saw the strained figures of the garrison peering downward through the yellow moon rays, and took stand on either side of him to gaze, too, in spellbound silence.