"Sahib, it is I—Rukn-ud-din," yelled a lamentable voice from the door.
"Speak, that I may know where you are."
Gerrard had just breath enough left to shout "Here!" and sufficient presence of mind to wriggle as far as he could when he had done it. The instant swish of a sword, delivered with such good will that it smashed on the stone floor where he had lain but a moment before, showed his wisdom, and he tried to roll out of the fray, but Charteris, who must have struck his head in falling, lay a dead weight across his legs. While he tried first to lift his friend, and then to drag himself from under him, a fierce battle was raging above and across their prostrate forms, and feet, bare or booted, trod upon or tripped over them. At length Charteris stirred and groaned, and Gerrard shook him desperately.
"Bob, get up! Get off me, anyhow!"
A hand seized his shoulder as he shouted, and he imagined a sword descending on his head, and thought his last hour had come. But the hand came down to meet his, and a voice cried, "Well done, sahib. Up!" and helped by Rukn-ud-din, he was on his feet again, and set with his back to the wall. Stooping, he found Charteris struggling into a sitting position, and dragged him back also, then realised that the fight had suddenly slackened, and that the sound of panting breaths had replaced the clash of swords. Before he could ask himself what this meant, Rukn-ud-din's voice broke the stillness.
"Brother, is it done?"
"It is done, brother," replied the voice of Amrodh Chand from the other side of the place. "Partab Singh Rajah and his son and the mother of his son are avenged."
A wild howl rent the air, as the servants of Sher Singh flung themselves furiously in the direction of the voice, but the Rajput had slipped round close to the wall, and Gerrard found him at his side, half-delirious with joy.
"Slay! slay! slay!" he chanted. "Wipe out the whole brood from the earth. Let all those who served the brother-slayer bear him company in death."
"Stay! Let them surrender if they will," cried Gerrard. "Let the servants of Sher Singh lay down their arms, and taste the mercy of the Government."
"That for the mercy of the Sarkar!" was the answer, as a vicious cut was made in Gerrard's direction from the floor, but Rukn-ud-din warded it off, and seizing the tulwar as it fell from the severed hand of the man who had wielded it, gave it to his commander. Then, advancing in line across the room, they drove the surviving servants of Sher Singh before them until, brought up by the opposite wall, they threw down their arms and cried for quarter. Then Rukn-ud-din went back along the passage for the piece of burning match in a metal holder by means of which he and Amrodh Chandh had made their way to the fight, the sounds of which had stirred their blood, and the extinguished lamp was found and relighted. Sher Singh's body was crouched on the charpoy, in a listening attitude, the matchlock with which he had shot at the lantern slipping from his hands. Four of his men were killed outright, besides the one outside who had tried to close the door, and whom Gerrard had shot through the opening, and the other two were badly wounded, while the victors bore abundant traces of the struggle. But there was no time for binding up their hurts just yet, for hurried footsteps and excited voices could be heard faintly overhead, though no words were distinguishable.