“That, sahib, is an acrobat of a plan,” said Alwa; “much jumping from one proposition to another!”

“It is no plan at all,” said Cunningham.  “It is a mere rehearsal of the circumstances.  A plan is something quickly seized at the right second and then acted on—­like your capture of Jaimihr.  Wait awhile, Alwa-sahib!”

“Ay, wait awhile!” growled Mahommed Gunga.  “Did I bring thee a leader to ask plans of thee, or a man of men for thee to follow?  Which?”

“All the same,” said Alwa, “I would rather halt and make a good plan.  It would be wiser.  I do not understand this one.”

“I follow Cunnigan-bahadur!” said Mahommed Gunga; and he spurred off to his squadron.  Alwa could see nothing better than to follow suit, for Cunningham closed his lips tight in a manner unmistakable.  And whatever Alwa’s misgivings might have been, he had the sense and the soldierly determination not to hint at them to his men.

As dawn rose pale-yellow in the eastern sky they thundered into view of Howrah City and drew rein to breathe their horses.  The sun was high before they had trotted near enough to make out details.  But, long before details could be seen, it was evident that an army was formed up to meet them on the tree-lined maidan that lay between them and the two-mile-long palace-wall.  Beyond all doubt it was Jaimihr’s army, for his elephants were not so gaudily harnessed as Howrah’s, and his men were not so brilliantly dressed.

As they dipped into the last depression between them and the wall and halted for a minute’s consultation, a khaki-clad, shrivelled figure of a man leaped up from behind a sand-ridge, and raced toward Cunningham, shouting to him in a dialect he had no knowledge of and gesticulating wildly.  A trooper spurred down on him, brought him up all standing with an intercepted lance, examined him through puckered eyes, and then, roaring with laughter, picked him up and carried him to Cunningham.

“A woman, sahib!  By the beard of Abraham, a woman!”

“Joanna!”

“Ha, sahib!  Ha, sahib!”

She babbled to him, word overtaking word and choking all together in a dust-dry throat.  Cunningham gave her water and then set her on the ground.

“Translate, somebody!” he ordered.  “I can’t understand a word she says.”

Babbled and hurried and a little vague it might be, but Joanna had the news of the minute pat.

“Jaimihr is looting the treasure now, sahib.  He has tricked his brother.  They were to join, and both fight against you, but Jaimihr tried to get the treasure out before either you or his brother came.  He is trying now, sahib!”

“Miss McClean!  Ask her where Miss McClean is!  Ask for Miss Maklin, sahib!”

“Jaimihr has told her that thou and Alwa and Mahommed Gunga are all dead, and the British overwhelmed throughout all India!  He has her with him in a carriage, under guard, for all his men are with him and he could spare no great guard for his palace.  See!  Look, sahib!  Jaimihr’s palace is in flames!”