"At last," he was chuckling, as he rubbed his hands together, and gently prised open that curious box of his. "At last the time has come to teach these people a lesson. A little caution, a little watching, and then the ship flies in pieces. Of course, it'll be sad for the men. I've no grudge against 'em. But then, how can I help killing a few? The destruction of the ship is all-important. Yes, a little cunning and I shall lay the bombs, set the clockwork in motion, and go. Who is to say that it was not due to a dreadful accident?"
The man's face was positively hideous in its cunning. Those aboard the airship were indeed face to face with a crisis.
CHAPTER XV
The Great Attempt
A motley crowd thronged the narrow streets of the old city of Delhi, that city to which for so many years the eyes of the natives of India had ever been turned, the same quaint, battlemented stronghold which had seen those mutineers arrive flushed with the success of their first massacres of sahibs and mem-sahibs and children, had witnessed the struggle of sepoys to overthrow the British Raj.
A noisy crowd of gesticulating people, as dusky almost as ebony, some resplendent in many-coloured robes and turbans, others, the coolies, clad in but the lightest raiment, bargained at the numerous booths, or sat on their haunches in the sun, basking in the heat, smoking their hubble-bubbles. Now and again a sowar passed, mounted on his wiry animal, as fine a soldier as this jewel in England's glorious crown could well produce. Then came a Gurkha maybe, though very few were to be found in the neighbourhood of Delhi; a tall Sikh followed, his dark eyes glowing beneath his huge and picturesque turban. In short, a motley crowd, a crowd of surpassing interest, wended its way hither and thither, some about their ordinary business, some on shopping bent, others merely idling, trusting to meet chance acquaintances when they could forgather in some quiet corner and chatter about the huge airship.
"Ripping!" declared Alec, when he and Dick had looked on at the throng for perhaps an hour, and had strolled through a number of streets. "It's quite the most interesting thing I have ever seen. Look! There are English people mixed up with the natives."
There was every nationality one could imagine almost. Slim, sly men from the hills, in the neighbourhood of the North-West, a couple of Afghan merchants but recently arrived by way of the Khyber Pass, a Parsee banker, a native clerk, a postman of dusky colour. Then a group of chattering women, a bevy of girls from the nearest school, clad in garments very similar to those worn by their European sisters. And later a gorgeously-caparisoned elephant, with some native prince in the howdah. A band sounded in the distance, and presently a British regiment swung by, the natives on either side salaaming to the colours, which Dick saluted in naval style. Nor were our two young friends the least interesting of the people bustling about the streets of Delhi. A couple of clean, jolly, well-set-up young Englishmen they looked, their white drill suits and topees suiting them admirably. But there were others of interest also. Three sailors swung by, barging through the crowd with that curious roll so common to men of the sea. Need we say that they were Hawkins, Hurst, and Pierson, with the cantankerous and unlovely Private Larkin in close attendance? And didn't they take good care to salute our two young friends!