And in the opposite direction one solitary gunner rode, hell-bent-for-leather, with a note addressed to “O.  C.—­Jundhra.”  It was short and to the point.  It ran: 

        Have blown up magazine; Mrs. Bellairs at Hanadra;
        have gone to rescue her. 
                (Signed) A. Forrester-Carter (Col.)
                        per J. O’Rourke

V.

The red glow of barracks burning—­an ayah from whom a dagger has been taken locked in another room—­the knowledge that there are fifty thousand Aryan brothers, itching to rebel, within a stone’s throw—­and two lone protectors of an alien race intent on torturing a High Priest, each and every one of these is a disturbing feature.  No woman, and least of all a young woman such as Ruth Bellairs, can be blamed for being nervous under the stress of such conditions or for displaying a certain amount of feminine unreasonableness.

She stood shivering for a minute and watched spellbound while Mahommed Khan held the hot coal closer and even closer to the High Priest’s naked foot.  The priest writhed in anticipation of the agony and turned his eyes away, and as he turned them they met Ruth’s.  High priests of a religion that includes sooth-saying and prophecy and bribery of gods among its rites are students of human nature, and especially of female human nature.  Knowledge of it and of how it may be gulled, and when, is the first essential of their calling.  Her pale face, her blue eyes strained in terror, the parted lips and the attitude of tension, these gave him an idea.  Before the charcoal touched him, he screamed—­screamed like a wounded horse.

“Mahommed Khan, stop!  Stop this instant!  I won’t have it!  I won’t have my life, even, on those terms!  D’you hear me, sir!”

“Have courage, heavenborn!  There is but one way to force a Hindu priest, unless it be by cutting off his revenues—­he must be hurt!  This dog is unhurt as yet—­see!  The fire has not yet touched his foot!”

“Don’t let it, Mahommed Khan!  Set that iron down!  This is my room.  I will not have crime committed here!”

“And how long does the heavenborn think it would be her room were this evil-living pig of a priest at large, or how long before a worse crime were committed?  Heavenborn, the hour is late and the charcoal dies out rapidly when it has left the fire!  See.  I must choose another piece!”

He rummaged in the brazier, and she screamed again.

“I will not have it, Risaldar!  You must find another way.”

“Memsahib!  Thy husband left thee in my care.  Surely it is my right to choose the way?”

“Leave me, then!  I relieve you of your trust.  I will not have him tortured in my room, or anywhere!”

Mahommed Khan bowed low.

“Under favor, heavenborn,” he answered, “my trust is to your husband.  I can be released by him, or by death, not otherwise.”