“Would fight for me?”

“I have not yet said so.”  There was a little, barely accentuated emphasis on the one word “yet.”  The Maharajah thought a minute before he answered.

“How many mounted troopers could you raise?”

“Who knows?  A thousand—­three thousand—­according to the soreness of the need.”

“You have heard—­I know that you have heard—­what, even at this minute, awaits the British?  I know, for I have taken care to know, that a cousin of yours—­Mahommed Gunga—­is interested for the British.  So—­so I am interested to have word with you.”

Alwa laughed ironically.

“And the tiger asked the wolf pack where good hunting was!” he mocked.  “I and my men strike which way suits us when the hour comes.”

“My palace has many chambers in it!” hinted Howrah.  “There have been men who wondered what the light of day was like, having long ago forgotten!”

“Make me prisoner!” laughed Alwa.  “Count then the hours until three thousand blades join Jaimihr and help him grease the dungeon hinges with thy fat!”

“Having looted Jaimihr’s palace, you speak thus?”

“Having whipped a dog, I wait for the dog to lick my hand.”

“What is your purpose with these missionaries?”

“To redeem my given word.”

“And then?”

“I would be free to pledge it again.”

“To me?”

“To whom I choose.”

“I will give thee the missionaries, against thy word to fight on my side when the hour comes.”

“Against whom?”

“The British.”

“I have no quarrel with the British, yet.”

“I will give thee the missionaries, against thy word to support me on this throne.”

“Against whom?”

“Against all comers.”

“If I refuse, what then?”

“Jaimihr—­who by this time must surely be thy very warmest friend!—­ shall attack thee unmolested.  Pledge thy word—­take thy missionary people—­and Jaimihr must oppose thee and me combined.”

“Should Jaimihr ride after me, what then?”

“If he takes many with him, he must leave his camp unguarded, or only weakly guarded.  Then I would act.  If he goes with few, how can he take thy castle?”

“Then I have your protection against Jaimihr, and the missionaries, against my promise to support you on the throne?”

“My word on it.”

“And mine.”

Howrah rose, stepped forward to the dais edge, and held his hand out.

“Nay!” swore Alwa, recoiling.  “My word is given.  I take no Hindoo’s hand!”

Howrah glared for a moment, but thought better of the hot retort that rose to his lips.  Instead he struck a silver gong, and when the doors swung open ordered the prisoners to be produced.

“Escape through the palace-grounds,” he advised Alwa.  “A man of mine will show the way.”

“Remember!” said Alwa across his shoulder with more than royal insolence, “I swore to help thee against Jaimihr and to support thee on thy throne—­but in nothing did I swear to be thy tool—­remember!”