“In the name of Siva the Great One!” exclaimed the Dewan piously.  “It is a good thought.  Listen to me, Maharaj!  Listen, thou renegade” (this to Chunerbutty, who dared not resent the old man’s insults).

The three heads came together.

* * * * *

After lunch that day Dermot sat smoking in his room.  Although it had no punkah and the heat was great, he had escaped to it from the crowded lounge to be able to think quietly.  But his thoughts were not of the attempts on his life and the probability that they would be repeated.  His mind was filled with Noreen to the temporary exclusion of all other subjects.  She puzzled him.  He had supposed her engaged, or practically engaged, to Charlesworth.  Yet she had come away from Darjeeling at its gayest time and here seemed to be engrossed with Chunerbutty.  She was always with him or he with her.  He never left her side.  She sat by him at every meal.  She had gone alone with him in his howdah to the Moti Mahal, when every other elephant had carried more than two persons.  He knew that she had always regarded the Hindu as a friend, but he had not thought that she was so attracted to him.  Certainly now she did not appear content away from him.  What would Charlesworth, who hated natives, think of it?

As for himself, their former friendship seemed dead.  He had naturally been hurt when she had not waited in the hotel at Darjeeling, though she knew that he was coming to say good-bye to her.  But perhaps Charlesworth had kept her out, so he could not blame her.  But why had she deliberately avoided him here in the Palace?  What was the reason of her unfriendliness?  Yet that morning in the lounge after breakfast he had chanced to pass her where she stood beside Chunerbutty, who was speaking to a servant.  She had detained him for a moment to tell him that she wished to see him alone some time, for she wanted his advice.  She seemed rather mysterious about it, and he remembered that she had spoken in a low tone, as if she did not desire any one else to hear what she was saying.

What did it all mean?  Well, if he could help her with advice or anything else he would.  He had not realised how fond he was of her until this estrangement between them had arisen.

As he sat puzzling over the problem the servant who waited on him entered the room and salaamed.

“Ghurrib Parwar! (Protector of the Poor.) I bring a message for Your Honour.  The English missie baba sends salaams and wishes to speak with you.”

Dermot sprang up hastily.

“Where is she, Rama?  In the lounge?”

“No, Huzoor.  The missie baba is in the Red Garden.”

“Where is that?”

“It is the Rajah’s own private garden, through there.”  The servant pointed down to the gateway in the high wall of the courtyard below.  He had opened the shutter of the window by which they were standing.  “I will guide Your Honour.  We must go through that door over there under His Highness’s apartments.”