There happened to be a thing they call a "constabeel" going by, and the owner of the sugar-cane appealed to him for justice and relief. So the "constabeel" prodded Akbar's rump with his truncheon, and helped himself, too, to sugar-cane by way of balancing accounts. And while the owner of the sugar-cane was bellowing red doctrine about that, Ismail went out and helped himself likewise, only more liberally, carrying in an armful of the stuff, and slamming the gate in the faces of all concerned. In cynical enjoyment of the blasphemy outside he sat down then in the shadow of the wall to chew the cane and count the change extorted from the mahout.
"Behold India self-governed!" I said, turning to beckon through the arch between the two courtyards.
But the Mahatma was gone! And unlike the Cheshire cat, he had not even left a smile behind him—had not even left Athelstan King behind him. The two had disappeared as silently and as utterly as if they had never been there!
CHAPTER X
A DATE WITH DOOM
I hunted about, looked around corners, searched the next courtyard, and drew blank. Then I asked Ismail, and he mocked me.
"The Mahatma? You are like those fools who pursue virtue. There never was any!"
"That mahout named you rightly just now," said I. "He knew your character perfectly."