Presently a state palanquin was seen approaching, borne by sixteen men, who carried it out upon the cleared space, and set it down.
“What’s this?” murmured Dick. “Ashraf Ali in a palki? I’ve never seen him in one in my life.”
Bahram Khan, who had ridden in advance of the palanquin, now dismounted, and approaching it with extreme deference, raised the heavy gold-embroidered curtain at the side. Those in the turret strained their eyes to pierce the dimness within, and made out with some difficulty the figure of the white-bearded ruler, sitting motionless, as though absorbed in meditation.
“He’s stupefied!” came in a fierce whisper from Dick. “They’ve given him opium or something of the sort.”
Colonel Graham addressed the Amir politely, but no answer was vouchsafed. It was Bahram Khan who replied for him, in the silkiest of tones.
“The Amir Sahib refuses to look upon the sahibs, or to listen to their words, until they have surrendered to him.”
“Oh, does he?” said Dick, and he stepped forward between Colonel Graham and the Commissioner, and showed himself at the loophole.
“Amir Sahib, do you know my voice?” he cried.
An electric shock seemed to pass through the inanimate form in the palanquin. “Is that the voice of Nāth Sahib?” was asked, in high, quavering tones. “Then can this most unhappy one die in peace.”
“Do you guarantee our safety, Amir Sahib?” asked Dick.