“Remove the prisoner from that cell, taking great care that the hag yonder sees what you do—­yes, that hag—­the new one; she is a spy.  Bring the prisoner in to me, where I will talk with him; afterward place him in a different cell—­put him where we kept the bear that died—­there is a dark comer beside it, where a man might hide; hide a man there when it grows dark.  And give the hag access.  Say nothing to her; let her come and go as she will; watch, and listen.”

Without another word, the Prince got up and shuffled in his decorated slippers to a door at one end of the cloister.  Five minutes later Ali Partab—­high-chinned, but looking miserable—­was led between two men through the same door, while the old woman went on very ostentatiously with her sweeping about the yard.  She even turned her back, to prove how little she was interested.

Ali Partab was hustled forward into a high-ceilinged room, whose light came filtered through a scrollwork mesh of chiselled stone where the wall and ceiling joined.  There were no windows, but six doors opened from it, and every one of them was barred, as though they opened into treasure-vaults.  The Prince sat restlessly in a high, carved wooden chair; there was no other furniture at all, and Ali Partab was left standing between his guards.  The Prince drew a pistol from inside his clothing.

“Leave us alone!” he ordered; and the guards went out, closing the door behind them.

“I gave no orders for your capture,” said Jaimihr, with a smile.

“Then, let me go,” grinned Ali Partab.

“First, I must be informed on certain matters.”

Ali Partab still grinned, but the muscles of his face changed their position slightly, and it took no expert in physiognomy to read that questions he would answer must be very tactfully asked.

“Ask on!”

“You are Mahommed Gunga’s man?”

“Yes.  It is an honorable service.”

“Did he order you to stay here?”

“Here—­in this palace?  Allah forbid!”

“Did he order you to stay in Howrah?”

“He gave me certain orders.  I obeyed them until your men invited swift death for themselves and you by interfering with me!”

“What were the orders?”

Ali Partab grinned again—­this time insolently.

“To make sure that the Jaimihr-sahib did not make away with the treasure of his brother Howrah!” he answered.

“If you were released now what would you proceed to do?”

“To obey my orders.”

Jaimihr changed his tactics and assumed the frequently successful legal line of pretending to know far more than he really did.

“I am told by one who overheard you speak that you were to take the missionary and his daughter to Alwa’s place.  How much is my brother Howrah paying for Mahommed Gunga’s services in this matter?  It is well known that he and Alwa between them could call out all the Rangars in the district for whichever side they chose.  Since they are not on my side, they must be for Howrah.  How much does he pay?  I might offer more.”