Bruce’s camp was, of course, in utter ruin.  Not even the cooking utensils remained:  and of his men there was left but Ali, whose leg still caused him to limp a little.  So Bruce was commanded by no less person than Kathlyn to be her father’s guest till they departed for America.  Daily Winnie rode Rajah.  He was such a funny old pachyderm, a kind of clown among his brethren, but as gentle as a kitten.  Running away had not paid.  He was like the country boy who had gone to the big city; he never more could be satisfied with the farm.

The baboon hung about the colonel’s heels as a dog might have done; while Kathlyn had found a tiger cub for a plaything.  So for a while peace reigned at the camp.

They found the much sought document in the secret chamber in Umballa’s house (just as he intended they should); and the king had it legally destroyed and wrote a new will, wherein Pundita should have back that which the king’s ancestors had taken from her—­a throne.

After that there was nothing for Colonel Hare to do but proceed to ship his animals to the railroad, thence to the ports where he could dispose of them.  Never should he enter this part of India again.  Life was too short.

High and low they hunted Umballa, but without success.  He was hidden well.  They were, however, assured that he lingered in the city and was sinisterly alive.

Day after day the king grew stronger mentally and physically.  Many of the reforms suggested by Ramabai were put into force.  Quiet at length really settled down upon the city.  They began to believe that Umballa had fled the city, and vigilance correspondingly relaxed.

The king had a private chamber, the window of which overlooked the garden of brides.  There, with his sherbets and water pipe he resumed his old habit of inditing verse in pure Persian, for he was a scholar.  He never entered the zenana or harem; but occasionally he sent for some of the women to play and dance before him.  And the woman who loved Umballa was among these.  One day she asked to take a journey into the bazaars to visit her sister.  Ordinarily such a request would have been denied.  But the king no longer cared what the women did, and the chief eunuch slept afternoons and nights, being only partly alive in the mornings.

An hour later a palanquin was lowered directly beneath the king’s window.  To his eye it looked exactly like the one which had departed.  He went on writing, absorbed.  Had he looked closely, had he been the least suspicious . . . !

This palanquin was the gift of Durga Ram, so-called Umballa.  It had been built especially for this long waited for occasion.  It was nothing more nor less than a cunning cage in which a tiger was huddled, in a vile temper.  The palanquin bearers, friends of the dancing girl, had overpowered the royal bearers and donned their costumes.  At this moment one of the bearers (Umballa himself, trusting no one!) crawled stealthily under the palanquin and touched the spring which liberated the tiger and opened the blind.  The furious beast sprang to the window.  The king was too astonished to move, to appreciate his danger.  From yon harmless palanquin this striped fury!