Barclay had heard from the planters the belief in Dermot’s divinity which was universal in their district, and perceived that the legend had reached this man.  He was quick to see the advantages that they could reap from his superstitious fears.  He signed to Dermot to be silent and said in solemn tones: 

“Rama, thou hast grievously offended the gods.  Thou knowest the truth at last?”

“I do, Sahib.  The talk through the Palace, aye, throughout the city, is all of the God of the Elephants, of the Terrible One who feeds his herd of demons on the flesh of men.  The temple of Gunesh will be full indeed tonight.  But alas!  I am an ignorant man.  I knew not that the holy one took form among the gora-logue (white folk).”

“The gods know no country.  The truth, Rama, the truth,” said Barclay impressively.  “Else thou art lost.  Shiva-ji, mayhap, is hungry and needs his meal of flesh.”

“Ai! sahib, say not so,” wailed the terror-stricken man.  “He has feasted well today.  With my own eyes I saw him feed on Man Singh the Rajput.”

Natives believe that an elephant, when it seizes in its mouth the limbs of a man that it has killed and is about to tear in pieces, eats his flesh.  In dread of a like doom, of the terrible vengeance of this mysterious Being, god, man, or demon, perhaps all three, from whom death shrank aside, whom neither poison of food nor venom of snake could harm, who used mad, man-slaying elephants as steeds, Rama unburdened his soul.  He told how the Dewan’s confidential man had bade him carry out the attempts on Dermot’s life.  He showed them that the Major’s suspicions when he saw the Rajah’s soldiery were correct, and that from Lalpuri came the inspiration of the carrying-off of Noreen.  He told them of a party of these same soldiers that had gone on a secret mission into the Great Jungle, from which but a few came back after awful sufferings, and the strange tales whispered in the bazaar as to the fate of their comrades.

He disclosed more.  He spoke of mysterious travellers from many lands that came to the Palace to confer with the Dewan—­Chinese, Afghans, Bhutanese, Indians of many castes and races, white men not of the sahib-logue.  He said enough to convince his hearers that many threads of the world-wide conspiracy against the British Raj led to Lalpuri.  There was not proof enough yet for the Government of India to take action against its rulers, perhaps, but sufficient to show where the arch-conspirators of Bengal were to be sought for.

Rama left the room, not pardoned indeed, but with the promise of punishment suspended as long as he was true to the oath he had sworn by the Blessed Water of the Ganges, to be true slave and bearer of news when Dermot needed him.

Long after he left, the two sat and talked of the strange happenings of the last few days, and disclosed to each other what they knew of the treason that stalked the land, for each was servant of the Crown and his knowledge might help the other.  And when the hoot of Payne’s motor-horn in the outer courtyard told them that it was time for Dermot to go, they said good-bye in the outwardly careless fashion of the Briton who has looked into another’s eyes and found him true man and friend.