Presently the eunuch returned, and beckoned to us.
“The Sahibs may go forward now,” he said. “The cage is shut and the birds are asleep.”
We followed him, and he brought us out upon an open space, and in the midst of it a small pavilion, like a temple, built in white stone or marble, in two storeys, very elegantly, with small pillars before it and a dome above, the whole covered over with fantastical designs of trees and flowers, curiously wrought in the stone.
The door of the pavilion was closed. In the upper storey I saw several lattices open, but no lights.
“What are we to do in the next place?” I asked of the eunuch.
He gave me an expressive look out of his black eyes, and silently delivered to me a scymetar which he carried.
“Let the Sahib knock, and when they who keep the door put forth their heads, let the Sahib strike them off,” he said, seeing me hesitate.
It had been well for us, as it turned out, if I had done as he bid me, for the squeamishness which we feel about shedding blood is not understood amongst Indians, and they despise us for it. However, before I could say anything further, my cousin stepped up to the door and knocked boldly.
There was a commotion inside. I drew my scymetar, and Rupert did the same. As soon as the door was unfastened from within, without waiting to parley, we flung ourselves through the opening, striking out blindly in the dark.