Yasmini herself looked unaccountably meek in the Western dress, but her blue eyes blazed with fury and she walked with confidence, issuing her orders in a level voice.  The gateman had come to the door again to announce that Gungadhura had issued a final warning.  Two more minutes and the outer gate should be burst in by his orders.

“Tell the maharajah sahib that I come in person to welcome him!” she retorted, and the gateman hurried back into the dark toward his post.

There were no lights at the outer gate.  One could only guess how the stage was set—­the maharajah hooded lest some enemy recognize him—­ the eunuchs behind him with cords concealed under their loose outer garments—­and the guard at a respectful distance standing at attention.  There was not a maharajah’s sepoy in Sialpore who would have dared remonstrate with Gungadhura in dark or daylight.

Only as they passed under the yellow light shed by the solitary lantern on the iron bracket did Tess get an inkling of Yasmini’s plan.  Light glinted on the wrought hilt of a long Italian dagger, and her smile was cold-uncompromising—­shuddersome.

Tess objected instantly.  “Didn’t you promise you’d kill nobody?  If we’d a pistol we could fire it in the air and my husband would come in a minute.”

“How do we know that Gungadhura hasn’t killed your husband, or shut him up somewhere?” Yasmini answered, and Tess had an attack of cold chills that rendered her speechless for a moment.  She threw it off with a prodigious effort.

“But I’ve no weapon of any kind, and you can’t kill Gungadhura, three eunuchs and the guard as well!” she argued presently.

“Wait and see what I will do!” was the only answer.  “Gungadhura caused my pistols to be stolen.  But the darkness is our friend, and I think the gods—­if there are any gods—­are going to assist us.”

They walked to the gate in a little close-packed group, and found the gateman stuttering through the small square hole provided for interviews with strangers, telling the maharajah for the third or fourth time that the princess herself was coming.  Gungadhura’s voice was plainly audible, growling threats from the outer darkness.

“Stand aside!” Yasmini ordered.  “I will attend to the talking now.”

She went close to the square hole, but was careful to keep her face in shadow at the left-hand side of it.

“What can His Highness, Gungadhura Singh, want with his relative at this strange hour?” she asked.

“Open the gate!” came the answer.  He was very close to it—­ready to push with his shoulder the instant the bolt was drawn, for black passion had him in hand.  But in the darkness he was as invisible as she was.

“Nay, how shall I know it is Gungadhura Singh?”

“Ask the guard!  Ho, there!  Tell her who it is demands admission!”

“Nay, they might lie to me!  The voice sounds strange.  I would open for Gungadhura Singh; but I must be sure it is he and no other.”