Closing, and locking the door, she flung the key through a narrow loophole in the stairway, through which that same radiance of the Dead could be seen faintly; so passed down to her own door.
There was much to be done. The diamond, however, being so far safe, her first care must be to warn the King that the little coward of the râm-rucki was in imminent danger. For this she must make her way to the palace.
She made it quicker than she had thought for, since, as she unlocked her door, figures started out on her from the darkness below, and she felt what the Beneficent Ladies called an "all-over dress," being respectfully yet firmly pulled over her.
"By the King's command, bîbî," said the oily voice of a eunuch. "Thou hast been appointed of his household, and the Lord Chamberlain hath ordered us----"
She made no effort at escape, knowing herself helpless, but she could defend herself.
"The Lord Chamberlain, being here himself," she interrupted at a venture--and a faint stirring as if those around her turned to look at someone told her that her surmise was correct--"can take me prisoner if he choose; but let him remember that the King desires my presence as Châran at the Great Durbar. So let him treat me ill at his peril."
Mirza Ibrahîm who had, indeed, come to see his orders executed, said nothing; but he inwardly swore that the jade should repent her defiance. There were endless possibilities for a Lord Chamberlain once the wild-cat were fairly housed within reach.
Âtma meanwhile in her screened dhooli felt herself going palaceward contentedly enough. So far was good. But how to get her message conveyed to the King.
Yet conveyed it must be, and before long; for the soft radiance of the Lamps of the Dead had begun to die down. The wandering spirits had had their feasting; they must be in their graves by dawn.
Could she escape? Could she by good luck see a friend? bribe one of the bearers?