Then Rukh smiled slightly and spoke. “Well, Doctor,” he said in his slow, velvet voice, “it doesn’t appear that any ‘god from the machine’ is going to interfere with our program.”
“You are bringing a terrible vengeance upon yourself,” the Englishman said sternly. But it sounded as if he scarcely troubled to say it at all.
“Think, my dear Doctor,” the Raja retorted lightly. “If, as the Major said, he did not get your S.O.S. through, I have nothing to fear. If he lied, and did get it through, nothing can ultimately save me, and I may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.”
“You might have spared me this!” the Englishman said, writhing, in spite of himself, in his bonds.
“A ritual detail, Doctor,” Rukh said deprecatingly; “not quite without reason. Persons lacking in self-control might throw themselves to the ground, or otherwise disarrange the ceremony.”
“I am not without self-control,” the physician told him haughtily.
The Raja bowed, smiling slightly; then gave a curt order, at which the bearers hastened back and cut the thongs, and as Traherne strode, still a little cramped, from the chair, carried it away.
Traherne looked about him hurriedly—but what he hoped and feared to see was not there.
“What have you done with Mrs. Crespin?” he demanded.
“Don’t be alarmed,” was the smooth reply; “she will be here in due time.”