She acknowledged the salute of the officers as they gazed with wonder on her masculine attire, and moved slowly amid the trees to the temple of the great god of Hindustan.
"Thanks be to Allah," Ahmad murmured devoutly. "This night is mine."
Black was the heart of the Mohammedan. The night was his—a night of hell riot loosened in his soul. Passion and murder struggled for the first place in his intention. Blood was already on his hands. Like a tiger his thirst for more was now unquenchable.
Mohurran Goshi called to his door earlier in the evening had received his unreckoned due. Ahmad's dagger had forever settled the account between them. The wise discerner of other's good and evil fortune, had failed to calculate his own swiftly approaching end.
In like manner a secret order to Dost Ali was to terminate the conspirators' existence. Ahmad quickly planned that in some dark ravine, before the boundary was reached, the deed might be easily accomplished. Prasad to be dispatched in revenge, the others as a safer fetter than money upon their silence. He quickly selected the escort, and then drew Dost Ali to one side.
"It is the Rani's command, O discreet Ali," he said in an undertone, "that these rascals are to be conducted to the boundary; but thou wilt easily gather her implied meaning. She declared she doth hope never to set eyes on any one of them again. Dost understand, she trusteth to thy sword, that not one of them may by chance return."
Dost Ali drew himself up and replied tersely.
"I understand her command that they are to be set free at the boundary."