They glided back into the dark warm room, after adjuring those they left to be silent, and as they took their places they could see the gleam of lights through the trees, the sight of which had roused their guard into making the sound which had warned the Resident.
“Light both the lamps, Tim,” said Mr Braine; “and be guarded. The rajah is coming.”
The man obeyed, and as the lights shed a softened glow through the place, the guards could see the doctor and Resident seated back smoking calmly.
“What are we to say?” said the doctor, huskily.
“Surprised at his treatment—ask for a little time—the lady startled by the unexpected demand—diplomacy—diplomacy. Let him go back thinking that you will yield.”
And as these last words were uttered, the lights drew near and lit up the swarthy faces of the rajah’s guards and sword-bearers filing into the grounds.
“Whatever you do, be careful. Don’t seem to yield easily. We are hurt by his treatment, mind.”
There was no time to say more, for the escort was already at the foot of the steps, on each side of which they formed up in a picturesque group, the lanterns they bore lighting up the showy costumes and displaying the rajah in his European uniform.
The two Englishmen advanced into the veranda to receive him, and as he mounted alone, he smiled, and waited to be asked into the room, evidently quite confident of his safety with his guard so near.
As soon as he was seated, he placed his glittering sword against his knee, and his plumed cap beside it, drawing himself up and glancing toward the doorway to make sure that he was in full sight of his guard. Then, turning to the doctor, he said in English: “Theeee—laidees.”