But Nana Sahib chuckled: "Her tongue protrudes thirsting for more
blood--"

But the Sirdar protested: "Prince--pardon, but--"

"My dear Baptiste, when the Hunsa comes in observe if these things are
not all stamped by Brahm on his frontispiece; he fascinates me."

The Dewan, devout Brahmin, had been running his fingers along a string
of lacquered beads that hung about his neck, muttering a prayer against
this that was like sacrilege.

When the jamadar was shown into the room his face took on a look of
uneasiness. It but added to the ferocity of the square scowling
massive head. His huge shoulders, stooped forward as he salaamed,
suggested the half-crouch of a tiger--even the eyes, the mouth, induced
thoughts of that jungle killer.

Nana Sahib, a sneer on his lips, turned to the Minister: "Play him,
Dewani, as you love us. There is some rare deviltry afloat."

"Why have you come, Jamadar?" the Dewan asked.

Hunsa's pig eyes shifted from Sewlal's face to roam over the other two,
and then returned a question in them.

"Tell him," Nana Sahib suggested, "that he has nothing to fear from us."

The jamadar was troubled by the English exchange, but the Dewan