Beneath, at a distance of some thirty feet, ran a narrow alley way, and
on the opposite side of this were doors. Round one of these several men
were clustered, as though gazing upon and rather enjoying something that
was going on within. And it was from this door that those horrible
shrieks and screams proceeded.
Raynier's blood ran chill within him. What act of devilish cruelty was
going on within that sinister chamber? He noticed that a kind of thin
steam was issuing from the upper part of the door, wafting up a nauseous
and greasy odour to where he stood. He could hear a mutter of voices
within the place, and a plashing sound, then the shrieks of agony broke
forth afresh louder than ever till he was forced to stop his ears.
Still, a horrible fascination kept him riveted--his gaze fixed on that
grisly door. What did it all mean? Then he was conscious that the
yelling had ceased, and now those clustering around parted to give way
to several persons who issued from the place. Among them was a tall,
fine-looking man, who had the air and importance of a chief. At him
Raynier looked somewhat curiously, for he thought he was acquainted with
all the Sirdars of the Gularzai. Then this man stopped, and
half-turned, and Raynier saw dragged forth between two others a limp,
quaking figure, its quivering features expressing an extremity of terror
that was akin to mania. And in this object he recognised his quondam
smart, well-groomed--and, to all but himself, somewhat arrogant--
chuprassi, Kaur Singh. This was the man they had been torturing, then.
But the words of the chief told him the next moment that it was not.
"Dog of an idolater," the latter said, "thou hast seen the torments in
which thy brother has died, which are but the beginning of what he is
now undergoing. Wherefore, if thou wouldst preserve thy miserable
carcase a little longer I advise thee to write that which shall hurry
those who are collecting thine ill-gotten gains."
The answer was an abject whine, and the follower of Brahma wallowed and
cringed before the follower of Mahomed.
Raynier remained rooted to the spot, gazing after the receding forms of
those beneath. That the unfortunate Sunt Singh had just been put to
some ghastly and lingering form of death within that gruesome chamber,
his brother being forced to look on, he now gathered. The motive, too,
was apparent, and now he deduced that the man who had spoken must be the
far-famed Murad Afzul; and the discovery inspired him with a very
genuine misgiving on his own account. What if the Nawab and his brother
never returned? What if they were killed or captured in some
engagement, and he were thus left at the mercy of this ruffian, whose
barbarities were a byword upon that border? What would be his own fate,
helpless in such hands? He rejoiced now that Hilda did not share his
captivity, the more so that a conviction had been growing upon him that
she must have found her way into safety. Then he remembered that Mehrab
Khan had learned that Murad Afzul had released Haslam and the Tarletons
for money, which looked as though that arch-dacoit deemed it bad luck to
murder Europeans. If the worst came to the worst, he, too, might find
safety and deliverance that way.
He turned quickly. An interruption, sudden and somewhat startling, had
broken in upon his meditations, a most venomous curse to wit, hurled at
himself. Framed in the doorway by which he himself had entered this
roof courtyard, stood a figure. The face was aged and lined, and the
beard grey and undyed. A ragged green turban crowned the head, while
the immense hooked nose and the opening and shutting of the extended
claw-like hands suggested some weird and exaggerated bird of prey.
Raynier recognised that he had to do with some professional fanatic, a
_mullah_ most likely.
"Why dost thou curse me, father?" he said in Pushtu. "What harm have I
done thee or thine?"
"Hear him!" cried the _mullah_. "Ya Allah! he calls me father, this son
of countless generations of infidels. Hear him, Mahomed, Prophet of
Allah ever blessed! Me, thy servant Hadji Haroun, who has three times
visited the sacred and inviolable Temple, who has kissed the sacred
Stone, this unbeliever calls `father.'"
And he spat forth a renewed and envenomed string of curses, pausing now
and again to raise his eyes heavenward, clasping and unclasping his
hooked claws--and then, as though having gained new inspiration,
breaking forth afresh.
Raynier felt annoyed. He was not altogether unfamiliar with this rabid
and aggressive type of fanaticism, though he had found it more among
Hindu fakirs than Mahomedans. He answered shortly,--
"I thought but to please thee, old man, but since I offended thee,
though I am sorry, it might be good to depart and leave me in peace."
At this the _mullah_ broke forth into fresh curses--but something of a
tumult beneath seemed to interrupt him, for with his head on one side he
paused and listened. There was a confused murmur of voices--almost a
roar--mingled with the trampling of horses. Of what was going on
beneath Raynier could see nothing, nor did he care to turn his back--for
longer than the briefest of glances--upon the fanatical _mullah_.
"In peace!" repeated the latter, echoing his last words. "In peace!
Here is he who will give thee peace, O infidel dog. Now will the blood
of Allahyar Khan--whom the Prophet console in Paradise--be avenged."
"I know not of what thou art talking, old man," returned Raynier,
shortly. "Thy curses matter not greatly, but if thou namest me `dog'
again I will throw thee over yon parapet even though thou hadst visited
the sacred and inviolable Temple thirty times instead of three."
At these words the other uttered a wild, shrill yell, and turning fled
down the stairs crying that the Feringhi dog was insulting the tomb of
the Prophet and threatening one who had kissed the sacred Stone--and
Raynier began to realise that he had made a grave mistake in losing his
temper with this old fool, whom he should have allowed to abuse him till
to-morrow morning rather than give him any pretext for raising the
fanatical hatred of these fierce and easily-roused tribesmen in whose
power he was. It was too late now, for already there was an approaching
hubbub on the stairs and several of them rushed in, their fierce
countenances blazing with wrath. But that their weapons were undrawn
Raynier would have expected to be cut to pieces. As it was they flung
themselves upon him, and he was dragged and hustled to the door, and
down the stairs--along passages and through doorways, with incredible
force and rapidity. Totally unarmed, and weakened by his recent
illness, resistance was out of the question. He supposed his time had
come and that he was being dragged to his death.
They had halted. He was in a large open courtyard, surrounded by the
doors of dwellings built apparently into high walls, except on the
further side, which was constituted by a solid cliff face, towering up
high overhead. This he took in at a glance, but what was more to the
point, the place was full of armed men, and there in the midst was
Mushim Khan.
The Nawab and his brother had just dismounted from horseback, and a
follower was leading away their steeds, fine animals showing blood and
muscle in every movement. In spite of the rough and undignified
treatment of which he had just been a victim Raynier was mindful of the
dignity of his high office, and his attitude and tone were not lacking
in this when, having waited for the buzz which greeted his appearance to
subside, he gave the chief's the salaam.
To his surprise and inward dismay, neither replied. They stood
contemplating him in stern and hostile silence. He felt utterly
nonplussed, especially having regard to the good treatment and
hospitality which had been extended to him hitherto. Ah! the _mullah_
of course. That was it. He had been stirring up their fanatical
animosity, and once touch that you never know where you are with an
Oriental. There was the old villain over there, glaring at him with his
beady eyes.
"There has been a mistake, Nawab Sahib," began Raynier, perfectly cool
and collected.
"Yon holy man declares I spoke against the Prophet and his tomb, but it
is not so. You who know me are aware I am not one to do any such thing.
The _mullah_ is quite mistaken."
But the stern hostility on the countenances of the chiefs relaxed not
one atom--that upon those of their followers deepened, and mutterings of
hate rumbled forth from the rows of grim and shaggy faces which
encompassed him. Sinewy fingers instinctively tightened round sword
hilts and rifle locks. Raynier went on,--
"Believers, although of another creed, we are all the children of one
Father, for such is the teaching of the Prophet as revealed to him and
set forth in the Holy Koran. And I have seen enough of the followers of
the Prophet to respect their faith, and never have I uttered word
against that faith--no, not even now. But yon _mullah_ cursed me and
named me dog--me, the representative of the _Sirkar_. Should I accept
that meekly, think you?"
But all the reply that this drew was a deeper and renewed execration.
"What of Allahyar Khan?" hissed the _mullah_ at the chief's side. "What
of the Sirdar Allahyar Khan?"
The effect upon the Nawab was as that of a sting. Yet he spoke coldly,
as though striving to suppress the rage that consumed him.
"Answer me, Raynier Sahib. Was General Raynier Sahib, who commanded
troops at the time of the great rising thy father?"
"Surely, Nawab Sahib. But that is a long past and forgotten misfortune.
Why revive it?"
"And he commanded the troops that came to Grampur after it had been
reconquered?"
It was impossible but that Raynier's natural perceptions, let alone his
experience of Orientals, should have failed to convince him that here,
and not in any tale told by the _mullah_, lay the secret of Mushim
Khan's changed attitude towards him. Some of their people had been
killed at that time, was the solution, and this rascally _mullah_ had
stirred up the recollection. He knew how the blood feud can be tossed
on from generation to generation among these mountain tribes. Still,
there was only one answer possible.
"I believe he did, Nawab Sahib," he answered. "But why rake up these
dead and buried tales of strife?"
"Dead and buried!" yelled Hadji Haroun, clasping and unclasping his
claws. "Ya Mahomed! hear him. Dead and buried! What of Allahyar
Khan--what of the dog who sent him defiled to his death, the father of
this dog standing here?"
Then for the first time Raynier realised the imminence of his peril, for
he saw that no common incident in the fortune of war lay behind this.
The noble expression of the Nawab's countenance had disappeared, giving
way to one of hate and cruelty, and the same held good of that of his
brother, Kuhandil Khan. A roar of execration arose from the close ranks
of the Gularzai, and tulwars were drawn, and flashed in the sun. Mushim
Khan turned, and in an undertone gave directions to some of those
nearest to him. These advanced upon Raynier.
"There is no need to lay hands upon me, Chief of the Gularzai," he cried
in a firm tone. "I am in your power, you who have professed friendship
for me. Say what your will is."
But Mushim Khan answered no word. Raynier was seized and violently
dragged away, a roar of execration and hate going up from the gathering,
and, rising above it, he could distinguish the high, venomous tones of
the _mullah_, shrilling forth,--
"The blood of Allahyar Khan! The blood of Allahyar Khan! Now will it
be avenged. Ya Mahomed! Now! Now!"