“Quick!” said the Risaldar. “Light me that brazier again!”
Charcoal lights quickly, and before the steps had reached the landing Mahommed Khan had a hot coal glowing in his tongs:
“Now speak to them!” he growled at the shuddering priest. “Order them to go back to their temple and tell them that you follow!”
The priest shut his lips tight and shook his head. With rescue so near as that, he could see no reason to obey. But the hot coal touched him, and a Hindu who may be not at all afraid to die can not stand torture.
“I speak!” he answered, writhing.
“Speak, then!” said the Risaldar, choosing a larger coal. Then, in the priest's language, which none—and least of all a Risaldar—can understand except the priests themselves, he began to shout directions, pitching his voice into a high, wailing, minor key. He was answered by another sing-song voice outside the door and he listened with a glowing coal held six inches from his eyes.
“An eye for a false move!” hissed Mahommed Khan. “Two eyes are the forfeit unless they go down the stairs again! Then my half-brother here will follow to the temple and if any watch, or stay behind, thy ears will sizzle!”
The High Priest raised his voice into a wail again, and the feet shuffled along the landing and descended.
“Put down that coal!” he pleaded. “I have done thy bidding!”
“Watch through the window!” said the Risaldar. “Then follow!”