The Grand Duke, endeavouring to seize her hand, was pouring out
voluble expressions of adoration in execrable French, and Zara
el-Khala was retreating step by step. She had quickly thrown the veil
about her again. I heard the pad of swiftly running feet. If I was to
intervene before the arrival of the Hindu, I must act rapidly. I raced
along the path and thrust myself between the Grand Duke and the girl.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "is this gentleman annoying you?"

"How dare you, low pig!" cried the Grand Duke, and with a sweep of his
powerful arm he hurled me aside.

"Thank you," replied Zara el-Khala with great composure. "But my
servant is here."

As I turned, Chunda Lal hurled himself upon the Grand Duke from behind.
I had never seen an expression in a man's eyes like that in the eyes
of the Hindu at this moment. They blazed like the eyes of a tiger, and
his teeth were bared in a savage grin which I cannot hope to describe.
His lean body seemed to shoot through the air, and he descended upon
his burly adversary as a jungle beast falls upon its prey. Those long
brown fingers clasping his neck, the Grand Duke fell forward upon his
face.

"Chunda Lal!" said the dancer.

Kneeling, his right knee thrust between the shoulder blades of the
prostrate man, the Hindu looked up--and I read murder in those glaring
eyes. That he was an accomplished wrestler--or perhaps a strangler--I
divined from the helplessness of the Grand Duke, who lay inert, robbed