banished by electric light is a stage deliberately set for massacre.
The bazaars run criss-crosswise; any way at all save parallel, and
anyhow but straight. Between them lies always a maze of passages,
and alleys, deep sided, narrow, overhung by trellised windows and
loopholed walls and guarded stairways.

For every square inch where the sun can shine there are a hundred
where a man could hide unseen. Through century piled on suspicious
century, no designer, no architect, no builder has neglected to provide
a means of secret ingress, and still more secret egress, to each new
house. And the newest house is built on secret passages that hid
conspirators against the kings of men who lived before the oldest
house was thought of.

After the Mutiny of '57 came broader roads--so that a cannon might
be trained along them.

But in '57, Jailpore was a nest of winding alley-ways and blind bat
and rat holes, where weird smells and strange unlisted poisons and
prophecies were born. In its midst, tight-packed in a roaring babel-din
of many-colored markets, stood a stone-walled palace, built once by
a Hindu king to commemorate a victory over Moslems, added to by a
Moslem Nizam, to celebrate his conquest of the Hindus and added to
once again by the Honorable East India Company, to make a suitable
barracks for its native troops.

From the rat-infested slums, from the hot shadows and the mazy
back-bazaars, from temples, store-houses, shops, and from the
sin-steeped underworld, there screamed and surged and swept the
many-graded, many-minded polyglot rebellion-spume. A quarter of