"Since when hast thou believed in the gods again?" he asked.
"Well, it is hard to know what is true or false. If there be no gods, perhaps there are devils. My Christian friends are more impressed by the latter."
The Rajah shook his head doubtfully.
"Perhaps he is a devil. Who knows? They told me that he summoned a host of devils in the form of elephants to slay my soldiers. Pah! it is all nonsense. There are no such things."
With startling distinctness the shrill trumpeting of an elephant rang through the room.
"Mother Kali preserve me!" shrieked the superstitious Rajah, flinging himself in terror on his face. "That was no mortal elephant. Was it Gunesh that spoke?" He lifted his head timidly. "It is a warning. Spare the Feringhi. Let him go."
"Spare him? Knowest thou, O Maharaj, that the girl thou dost desire loves him? But an hour ago I heard her tell him that she wished to speak with him alone," said Chunerbutty.
"Alone with him? The shameless one! Curses on him! Let him die," cried the jealous Rajah, his fright forgotten.
The Dewan smiled.
"There was no need to fear the cry of that elephant," he said. "It was your favourite, Shiva-ji. He is seized with the male-madness. They have penned him in the stone-walled enclosure yonder. He killed his mahout this morning."