"Ah, Mem-sahib, they say he is dead. I know not. One night—the second after we arrived—he was summoned to the palace. He never came back."
"They have killed him!"
"Perhaps. They watch me, too; but I act simple. We wait and see."
Kathlyn rushed across the ground intervening between the animal cages and the bungalow. There was no one in sight. She ran up the steps … to be greeted inside by the suave Umballa.
"You?" her hand flying to her bosom.
"I, Miss Hare." He salaamed, with a sweeping gesture of his hands.
Sadly the wretch told her the tale; the will of the king, his death and the subsequent death of her father in his, Durga Ram's, arms. Yonder urn contained his ashes. For the first time in her young life Kathlyn fainted. She had been living on her nerves for weeks, and at the sight of that urn something snapped. Daintily Umballa plucked forth the packet and waited. At length she opened her eyes.
"You are a queen, Miss Hare."
"You are mad!"
"Nay; it was the madness of the king. But mad kings often make laws which must be obeyed. You will accuse me of perfidy when I tell you all. The note which brought you here was written by me and substituted for this."