He kicked the prostrate ayah, and, as the black face with the wide-open bloodshot eyes and the protruding tongue rolled sidewise and the body moved, a little heap of jewels fell upon the floor. Mahommed Khan stooped down to gather them, bending, a little painfully, on one old knee—but stopped half-way and turned. There was a thud behind him in the doorway. Ruth Bellairs had fainted, and lay as the ayah had lain when Risaldar had not yet locked her in the room.
He raised the lamp and studied her in silence for a minute, looking from her to the bound priest and back to her again.
“Now praised be Allah!” he remarked aloud, with a world of genuine relief in his voice. “Should she stay fainted for a little while, that priest—”
He stalked into the middle of the outer room. He set the lamp down on a table and looked the priest over as a butcher might survey a sheep he is about to kill.
“Now—robber of orphans—bleeder of widows' blood—dog of an idol-briber! This stands between thee and Kharvani!” He drew his sword and flicked the edges of it. “And this!” He took up the tongs again. “There is none now to plead or to forbid! Think! Show me the way out of this devil's nest, or—” He raised the tongs again.
At that minute came a quiet knock. He set the tongs down again and crossed the room and opened the door.
VII.
Mahommed Khan closed the door again behind his half-brother and turned the key, but the half-brother shot the bolt home as well before he spoke, then listened intently for a minute with his ear to the keyhole.
“Where is the priest's son?” growled the Risaldar, in the Rajput tongue.