"And those conditions I have refused."
"You have, yes, but now----" Umballa smiled. Then he suddenly blazed
forth: "Think you a white man shall sit upon this throne while I live?
It is mine. I was his heir."
"Then why didn't you save him from the leopard? I'll tell you why.
You expected to inherit on the spot, and I spoiled the game. Is that
not true?"
"And what if I admit it?" truculently.
"Umballa, or Durga Ram, if you wish, listen. Take the throne. What's
to hinder you? You want it. Take it and let me begone."
"Yes, I want it; and by all the gods of Hind I'll have it--but safely.
Ah! It would be fine to proclaim myself when mutiny and rebellion
stalk about. Am I a pig to play a game like that? Tch! Tch!" He
clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in derision. "No; I
need a buckler till all this roily water subsides and clears."
"And then, some fine night, Hare Sahib's throat? I am not afraid of
death, Umballa. I have faced it too many times. Make an end of me at
once or leave me to rot here, my answer will always be the same. I
will not become a dishonorable tool. You have offered me freedom and
jewels. No; I repeat, I will free all slaves, abolish the harems, the
buying and selling of flesh; I will make a man of every poor devil of a
coolie who carries stones from your quarries."
Umballa laughed. "Then remain here like a dog while I put your golden
daughter on the throne and become what the British Raj calls prince
consort. She'll rebel, I know; but I have a way." He stepped outside
and closed the door.
"Umballa?"
"Well?"
"Kit, my daughter? Good God, what is she doing here when I warned
her?" Hare tugged furiously at his chains. "Durga Ram, you have
beaten me. State your terms and I will accept them to the
letter. . . . Kit, my beautiful Kit, in this hellhole!"
"Ah, but I don't want you to accept now. I was merely amusing myself."
The door shut and the bolt shot home.
Hare fell upon his knees. "My head, my head! Dear God, save me my
reason!"
* * * * * * The moment Kathlyn arrived at the animal cages of her father she called
for Ahmed.
"My father?"
"Ah, Mem-sahib, they say he is dead. I know not. One night--the
second after we arrived--he was summoned to the palace. He never came
back."
"They have killed him!"
"Perhaps. They watch me, too; but I act simple. We wait and see."
Kathlyn rushed across the ground intervening between the animal cages
and the bungalow. There was no one in sight. She ran up the
steps . . . to be greeted inside by the suave Umballa.