The open air was reached at last; the night breeze blew refreshingly cool upon her fevered face.
“We must be cautious here,” he whispered.
It was a large courtyard they had to cross, but nothing seemed to be stirring but themselves. He opened a gate with a key which he took from his pocket, and then they stood in a private road. Down this road he led her for some distance till a small strip of jungle was reached. Here in the shadow of the trees a buggy and horse were standing. A native boy was holding the horse’s head. Moghul helped Flora into the vehicle; when she was seated he drew his tulwar, and approaching the boy, who still held the reins, he almost severed his head from his body; then, springing into the buggy, he cried—“Dead men tell no tales.”
The deed was so sudden, that there was scarcely time for reflection, but Flora almost fainted with horror as she witnessed it.
Moghul whipped the horse. It started off at a gallop, and very soon the Palace was left far in the rear.
CHAPTER XXXVI. MOGHUL SINGH IS OUTWITTED.
The house to which Moghul Singh took Flora Meredith was about four miles from the Palace, and on the opposite side of Delhi. It was simply an ordinary bungalow, built for the most part of bamboo. It was in a dilapidated condition, and situated in the native quarter. At this place Moghul had three or four of his native mistresses. It was quite a common thing in India for men in Singh’s position to keep up such establishments. In fact it was looked upon rather as a social distinction.
The place wore a most melancholy aspect when Flora arrived. The indispensable cocoa-nut lamp gave forth a faint glimmer that enabled a person, when the eyes became accustomed to it, to distinguish the squalor and filth; for the native dwellings, as a rule, were but one remove from pig-sties. In this room were ranged wooden benches, and on the benches were stretched the forms of several Hindoo women.