“How know you this?”

“By listening to the priests’ talk while I lay in wait to snare the priestling.  Nothing is known as yet as to what the guns or garrison at Doonha do, but it is known that they of Jundhra will march on Hanadra here.  They search now for their High Priest, being minded to march out of here and set an ambush on the road.”

“They have time.  From Jundhra to here is a long march!  Until tomorrow evening or the day following they have time!”

“Aye!  And they have fear also!  They seek their priest—­listen.”

There were voices plainly audible in the courtyard down below, and two more men stood at the foot of the winding stairway whispering.  By listening intently they could hear almost what they said, for the stone stairway acted like a whispering-gallery, the voices echoing up it from wall to wall.

“Why do they seek him here?”

“They have sought elsewhere and not found him; and there is talk—­ He claimed the memsahib as his share of the plunder.  They think—­”

Mahommed Khan glared at the trussed-up priest and swore a savage oath beneath his breath.

“Have they touched the stables yet?” he demanded.

“No, not yet.  The loot is to be divided evenly among certain of the priests, and no man may yet lay a hand on it.”

“Is there a guard there?”

“No.  No one would steal what the priests claim, and the priests will not trust one another.  So the horses stand in their stalls unwatched.”

The voices down the stairs grew louder, and the sound of footsteps began ascending, slowly and with hesitation.

“Quick!” said the Risaldar.  “Light me that brazier again!”

Charcoal lights quickly, and before the steps had reached the landing Mahommed Khan had a hot coal glowing in his tongs: 

“Now speak to them!” he growled at the shuddering priest.  “Order them to go back to their temple and tell them that you follow!”

The priest shut his lips tight and shook his head.  With rescue so near as that, he could see no reason to obey.  But the hot coal touched him, and a Hindu who may be not at all afraid to die can not stand torture.

“I speak!” he answered, writhing.

“Speak, then!” said the Risaldar, choosing a larger coal.  Then, in the priest’s language, which none—­and least of all a Risaldar—­ can understand except the priests themselves, he began to shout directions, pitching his voice into a high, wailing, minor key.  He was answered by another sing-song voice outside the door and he listened with a glowing coal held six inches from his eyes.

“An eye for a false move!” hissed Mahommed Khan.  “Two eyes are the forfeit unless they go down the stairs again!  Then my half-brother here will follow to the temple and if any watch, or stay behind, thy ears will sizzle!”

The High Priest raised his voice into a wail again, and the feet shuffled along the landing and descended.