“Let us hasten,” cried Martin, snatching up his creese from the floor.
“Nay, not so, sahib: we should have to eat dirt, for he is now with the prince, with whom, for some reason or other, he seems to have become a great favorite. Let us rest patiently till night.”
With great difficulty Martin curbed his impatience till nightfall, and then, guided by Prabu, we set out together for the gardens; these we entered by a small postern in the northern wall, which our guide had discovered by bribing one of the slaves.
“See,” said Prabu, pointing to a low building—through the chinks in the wooden wall of which we could perceive the glimmer of a light—“that is the pandapa; but tread softly, be cautious, or he will hear our approach.”
We crept stealthily to the boarding and looked through a chink.
“The rascal!” muttered Martin, between his teeth, and placing his hand upon the haft of his creese.
“Allah preserve us! He is at his incantations,” exclaimed Prabu.
But let me explain to the reader what we saw. The place was lighted by the dirty yellow flame of an oil-lamp, placed upon a pedestal about three feet high. At the base of this, upon the boarded floor, squatted, with his legs crossed beneath him, a hunchback with a wen neck; but his face we could not see, for his back was towards us. He was intently watching the figure of a man wrought of wax, robed in yellow, the royal color, and at the same time muttering some words, in a tongue I had never heard before.
“The dog!” muttered Prabu. “He is seeking to encompass the death of the Rajah by enchantment.”
“Hush,” I whispered.