"Ah," said the colonel. "That is all I desire to know. I am not a king. I am merely a prisoner. Therefore those papers which you bring me can not lawfully be signed by me." The colonel turned his back to Umballa, sought the latticed window and peered forth.
"There are ways," blazed forth Umballa.
"Bah! You black fool!" replied the colonel, wheeling. "Have I not yet convinced you that all you can do is to kill me? Don't waste your time in torturing me. It will neither open my lips nor compel me to take a character brush in my hand. If my daughter is dead, so be it. At any rate, she is at present beyond your clutches. You overreached yourself. Had you brought her back it is quite possible I might have surrendered. But I am alone now."
"You refuse to tell where the filigree basket is hidden?"
"I do."
"You refuse to exercise your prerogative to open the doors of the treasury?"
"I do."
Umballa opened the door, motioning to the troopers to pass out. He framed the threshold and curiously eyed this unbendable man. Presently he would bend. Umballa smiled.
"Colonel Sahib, I am not yet at the end of my resources," and with this he went out, closing the door.
That smile troubled the colonel. What deviltry was the scoundrel up to now? What could he possibly do?