"I knew there was some reason why I kept feelin' cheerful!" said
Warrington. "The risaldar-major looks like gettin' left."

"Unless," said Kirby, "you can get the police to act to-night--or
unless martial law's proclaimed at once, and I can think of an excuse
to search the house with a hundred men myself. Find somebody to give
you a lift. So long."

Kirby swung into his dog-cart, the sais did an acrobatic turn
behind, and again the horse proceeded to lower records. Zigzag-wise,
through streets that were growing more and yet more thronged instead
of silent, they tore barrackward, missing men by a miracle every
twelve yards. Kirby's eyes were on a red blotch, now, that danced and
glowed above the bazaar a mile ahead. It reminded him of pain.

Presently the horse sniffed smoke, and notified as much before
settling down into his stride again. The din of hoarse excitement
reached Kirby's ears, and in a moment more a khaki figure leaped out
of a shadow and a panting trooper snatched at the back seat, was
grabbed by the sais, and swung up in the rear.

"Sahib--"

"All right. I know," said Kirby, though he did not know how he knew.

They raced through another dozen streets until the glare grew
blinding and the smoke nearly choked him. Then they were stopped
entirely by the crowd, and Colonel Kirby sat motionless; for he had a
nearly perfect view of a holocaust. The house in which Ranjoor Singh