So he strode through the screen to the larger tent, and gave the signal for the uprising of Majesty.
In a second the huge weighted curtains at the end had swung to their high looped places, and advancing, he took his seat upon the canopied dais behind them. On the far level horizon the pearl gray of dawn was changing to primrose, darkening even as it changed to rosy-red; for Dawn comes swiftly in the cloudless skies of India. Before him, thronged with courtiers, circled the vast enclosure of the Inner Audience, opening out into a wide avenue wherein, drawn up on either side, stood soldiers in battalions. Their spear points struck at the sky; for beyond was nothingness. Only a wide, empty plain reaching up to a wide, empty sky.
ALLAH-HU AKBAR!
The cry rose from a thousand throats.
Akbar was indeed the King.
His enemies had failed.
Yet there was one thing which must be done before the dawn, if all was to be well, and Birbal looking somewhat crestfallen, stepped forward at a signal from the throne; behind him came William Leedes the jeweller.
The latter was saying "Ave-Mary's" under his breath, partly from pure fear of evil, partly from thanksgiving for delivery from evil.
"Mirza-Râjah Birbal," came the King's voice clear and resonant, to be heard of all men. "Deliver up the diamond called the King's Luck which was stolen, but which the King's Châran Âtma Devi hath died to restore" (Birbal started, then hung his head). "Deliver it up to the Western jeweller, William Leedes, in accordance with the oath by which she bound you."
Then turning to the Englishman the royal voice became less stern.